“Mary, it would be very strange if I should forget such a friend as you have been to me.” This was at least progressive. “I could not complain of you if you did. I certainly have no claim upon your friendly regard.” “Indeed you have, Mary. I may forget many associates, but I shall never cease to remember you as one for whom I have always felt a strong----esteem.” Was that all? Mary felt that it was. Her heart was yearning for his love--not for his three millions. What she felt now, she had felt before John Hungerford died, when Eugene was a humble law student in the office of Squire Perkins. These carefully guarded expressions seemed to shut the door against her, and to pile up a mountain between them. Yet he thought he had said a great deal. He believed that she understood him. He was tempted to take her hand as they stood by the window looking out at Dick Birch on the knoll, and give it a gentle pressure--just enough to assure her that he meant all he said; but this would be committing himself just a trifle too far; it would be offering her a bounty of three millions for her love. He must have some slight expression on her part; he must have some assurance that she loved him independently of his fortune. “I have no doubt of your present esteem, but the excitements of your new position will drive many old thoughts from your mind,” she continued, perhaps wondering whether he had ever thought of her with any more feeling than that of cold friendship. “It may; but, Mary, you will never be driven from my thoughts; that is to say, I shall always think of you as the kindest and best of friends.” The first clause was too warm, the second too cold; and Eugene began to struggle for the happy medium. “Mary, I don’t know that any definite expressions of affection ever passed between us,” he continued; “still there was a certain sympathy of thought and feeling when--when--we went to school together, which made us unusually good friends. While I was at the head on the boys’ side, you were at the head on the girls’ side. All this has gone by; but friendship between boys and girls has a tendency to be a progressive sentiment which has ripened or will ripen into something”--up came the three millions again--“will ripen into the friendship of the man and the woman.” “I hope so,” replied Mary; but it was with a sigh which she turned away to conceal. “Mary, I am going to Europe in a month or two--as soon as I can make my arrangements. As I wander among the ruins of Greece and Rome, and sun myself under pure Italian skies, about which we used to have something to say at school, I shall think of--”--the three millions!--“I shall think of--of my friends at home.”