‘To make game of such verses. Any one with half a soul must see they were fine.’
‘Very wrong of you, indeed, my dear,’ said Mr Coningham from behind, in a voice that sounded as if he were smothering a laugh; but when I looked round, his face was grave.
‘Then I suppose that half soul I haven’t got,’ returned Clara.
‘Oh! I didn’t mean that,’ I said, lamely enough. ‘But there’s no logic in that kind of thing, you know.’
‘You see, papa,’ said Clara, ‘what you are accountable for. Why didn’t you make them teach me logic?’
Her father smiled a pleased smile. His daughter’s naiveté would in his eyes make up for any lack of logic.
‘Mr Osborne,’ continued Clara, turning back, ‘I beg your pardon. I am a woman, and you men don’t allow us to learn logic. But at the same time you must confess you were making a bad use of yours. You know it was all nonsense you were trying to pass off on me for wisdom.’
He was by her side the instant she spoke to him. A smile grew upon his face; I could see it growing, just as you see the sun growing behind a cloud. In a moment it broke out in radiance.
‘I confess,’ he said. ‘I thought you were too hard on Wilfrid; and he hadn’t anything at hand to say for himself.’
‘And you were too hard upon me, weren’t you? Two to one is not fair play—is it now?’