bitious,
tranquil, fond of retirement, and philosophic, without an argument
on the matter,--without being allowed even the poor grace of owning
herself to be convinced. If a man takes a dog with him from the
country up to town, the dog must live a town life without knowing the
reason why;--must live a town life or die a town death. But a woman
should not be treated like a dog. "Had he deigned to discuss it with
me!" Alice had so often said. "But, no; he will read his books, and I
am to go there to fetch him his slippers, and make his tea for him."
All this came upon her again as she walked down-stairs by his side;
and with it there came a consciousness that she had been driven by
this usage into the terrible engagement which she had made with her
cousin. That, no doubt, was now over. There was no longer to her any
question of her marrying George Vavasor. But the fact that she had
been mad enough to think and talk of such a marriage, had of itself
been enough to ruin her. "Things of that sort are so often over with
you!" After such a speech as that to her from her father, Alice
told herself that there could be no more "things of that sort" for
her. But all her misery had been brought about by this scornful
superiority to the ordinary pursuits of the world,--this looking down
upon humanity. "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."

"You don't encourage her, papa, by eat