It was an article she had chosen, and the subject was “Education.” Wynne had a singularly marked style of his own—his sentences were crisp and incisive, his views original and striking. When he chose he could write with a degree of tenderness that was infinitely appealing; but in odd contrast to this mood, and usually in immediate proximity to his most happy expressed phrases, occurred passages of satire and mordant wit which detracted immeasurably from the charm of the whole. They stood out like blots upon the page.
The same conditions prevailed in each of the other manuscripts which Eve read, with the result that the fine susceptibilities which had been awakened by his best, were wounded by the ill-humour of his worst.
“Why do you give all the butterflies stings?” she asked.
The question pleased him, and he smiled.
“Why not? Aren’t they mostly well deserved?”
“By whom?”
“The public.”
She had it in mind to say that it was not the public who felt the sting, but, instead, she replied:
“May I copy these out?”
“If you like.”