"True for you, Lorimer!" he assented cheerily. "That is one of the doctrines I have spent my life trying to impress on the governor. I wish he felt it more borne in upon him. But, as you were saying, Sally, you're not expecting to become consistent. I'm glad, for you won't be disappointed. The brightest jewel in your crown will have to be of another color."
"What color is consistency, Bobby?" his cousin asked.
"Green, of course, reflected from the jealous eyes of the ninety and nine sinners who haven't the virtue."
"I'm not at all certain that I wish to be consistent," Sally asserted.
"So glad for your sake!" Bobby returned quickly.
Thayer looked up inquiringly.
"Because consistent people are such bores, Miss Van Osdel?"
"So you are a heretic, too? And then they are so smug."
"But there's consistency and consistency," Bobby argued. "There's mashed potato and frappé, for instance, equally hard, equally homogeneous, yet totally different. To my mind, there is a distinct choice between them, and I prefer—"
"Cherries in your frappé." Sally capped his sentence for him. "In other words, we all like a consistent person with lumps of inconsistency. That's myself, and one of my lumps is a dislike of having Mrs. Lloyd Avalons on our tenement committee."