The moment she had gone Montagu turned upon his guardian, demanding sternly: "Well, isn't it hopeless squish?"
"It is her prize," said Mr. Wycherly gently.
"Why, that's just what she said," Montagu exclaimed in astonishment at his usually logical guardian taking this line.
"You will find," said Mr. Wycherly, "as you go through life that it is never safe to abuse things violently before you have realised your hearer's point of view. You may offend deeply."
"You'd have to be jolly dishonest to always think of that," Montagu answered indignantly.
"You will be jolly rude and disagreeable if you never think of it," Mr. Wycherly retorted. "Besides, did she ask you for your opinion?"
"Well, no—but it seemed such a pity to go on liking such stuff. People must begin to learn what's good and what's bad sometime—and I shouldn't think she's stupid."
"I am quite sure she is not stupid, and I am equally sure that she is painfully sensitive and that you were more than a little stupid not to see it."
"Me, stupid!" Montagu repeated in surprise. "No one has ever called me that before."
Mr. Wycherly chuckled. "I thought," said he, "that the presence of a young girl among us would be mentally stimulating. She has not been in the house two days and yet, you see, already she has suggested to you new possibilities in yourself. By the way—just make a note of any poems you can think of bearing on mountains."