“I thought ivy was the emblem of friendship,” observed he. “Not my emblem――at least, not of the friendship I mean. Did you ever notice the plants? ivy is a parasite, living on the substance which supports it; drawing its own existence from the life of another; and it is very persevering too, where any thing can be gained: it is difficult to check; tear it down, and it will send out new roots and fix itself afresh, until the prop is destroyed by the encroachment of the counterfeit friend; then it is so cold and apathetic, always green and unchanging in appearance, one can not love an ivy plant, or make a companion of it, however picturesque it may be.” “And your favorite, what character does it bear?” “Examine it――do you see these little spreading hands with which it supports itself?――see how closely they adhere; if you tear it down, it can never be replaced, however; they will hold, while they have life, but forcibly detached, they can not fix themselves again. They ask nothing in return, but permission to be undisturbed; and once allowed to attach themselves, they soon cover their sustaining prop with their luxuriant foliage. But the prop must be _real_ of its kind, stone, or brick, or wood; but not stucco for stone, nor whitewashed plaster; there they retain no hold; nor polished glass you see; to that they can not fix themselves, it is too hard. Is not that constant, true, devoted friendship?” “And you think then friendship repulsed, or violently severed, can never be replaced?” “Unkindly severed――no, I should think not; but mine is only theoretical friendship, Mr. Huyton; practically, I have no experience. You, perhaps, know better.” “I believe the only one I ever called a friend, was Maurice, your brother,” was his answer. “I had hoped,” said she, looking up ingenuously, “that others of his family might have shared in that title.” “No,” replied he, earnestly, and gazing at her clear, innocent eyes, “Mr. Duncan is too old. I respect him greatly, but we are too unequal for friendship, and your sisters, of course, are out of the question.” He paused――her eyes were bent down with a slight shade of disappointment in them: did he not think her worth caring for at all then? well, perhaps this was natural enough. She was startled by his hand being laid on hers, and his voice breaking the silence as he said, “And for you, it is not _friendship_ that I feel; that is not the name of the sentiment which just now fills my heart.”