"It seems to me," she said, very quietly, while her hand was yet upon his arm, "that your pity is hardly needed. I should think that no persons can be happier than those whom you call our public men."
"Ah!" said he, "that is our old quarrel." He said it as though the quarrel had simply been an argument between them, or a dozen arguments,--as arguments do come up between friends; not as though it had served to separate for life two persons who had loved each other dearly. "It's the old story of the town mouse and the country mouse,--as old as the hills. Mice may be civil for a while, and compliment each other; but when they come to speak their minds freely, each likes his own life best." She said nothing more at the moment, and the three sat down to their small dinner-table. It was astonishing to Alice that he should be able to talk in this way, to hint at such things, to allude to their former hopes and present condition, without a quiver in his voice, or, as far as she could perceive, without any feeling in his heart.
"Alice," said her father, "I can't compliment your cook upon her soup."

"It seems to me," she said, very quietly, while her hand was on his arm, "that your pity is hardly needed. I should think that nobody can be happier than those public men."
"Ah!" said he, "that is our old quarrel." He said it as though the quarrel had simply been an argument between friends; not as though it had separated for life two people who had loved each other dearly. "It's the old story of the town mouse and the country mouse. Mice may be civil for a while, but when they come to speak their minds freely, each likes his own life best."
She said nothing more, and the three sat down to their small dinner-table. It was astonishing to Alice that he should be able to talk in this way, to allude to their former hopes, without a quiver in his voice, and, as far as she could tell, without any feeling in his heart.
"Alice," said her father, "I can't compliment your cook upon her soup."
