At the Garrick Club (a famous London club of which several leading actors were members) on New Year's Eve, Freddy Lonsdale was asked by Seymour Hicks to make up over a quarrel he had previously had with one of his fellow members. "You must," Seymour said. "It is very unkind to be unfriendly at such a time. Go over now and wish him a happy New Year." Freddy crossed the room and spoke to his enemy. "I wish you a happy New Year," he said, "but only one.
The death of a friendship was usually slow and insidious, like the wearing away of a hillside after years of too much rain. A handful of misunderstandings, a season of miscommunication, the passing of time, and where once stood two women with a dozen years of memories and tears and conversation and laughter—where once stood two women closer than sisters—now stood two strangers.
When you're young, you always think you'll meet all sorts of wonderful people, that drifting apart and losing friends is natural. You don't worry, at first, about the friends you leave behind. But as you get older, it gets harder to build friendships. Too many defenses, too little opportunity. You get busy. And by the time you realize that you've lost the dearest best friend you've ever had, years have gone by and you're mature enough to be embarrassed by your attitude and, frankly, by your arrogance.