Kendal's smile grew broad. It was the funniest thing to see Ulick
sporting with Sophy's gravity, constraining her to playfulness, with
something of the compulsion exercised by a large frolicsome puppy
upon a sober old dog of less size and strength.
'I do not like to see powers wasted on paradox,' she said, even as
the grave senior might roll up his lip and snarl.
'I'm in earnest, Sophy,' pursued Ulick, changing his note to
eagerness. 'La grande nation herself finds that logic was her bane.
Consistency was never made for man! Why where would this world be if
it did not go two ways at once?'
Sophy did laugh at this Irish version of the centripetal and
centrifugal forces, but she held out. 'The earth describes a circle;
I like straight lines.'
'Much we shall have of the right direction, unless we are content to
turn right about face,' said Ulick. 'The best path of life is but a
herring-bone pattern.'
'What does he know of herring-boning?' asked Mrs. Kendal, coming in
at the moment, with a white cashmere cloak folded picturesquely over
her delicate blue silk. Ulick in a moment assumed a less careless
attitude, as he answered--
'I found my poetical illustration on the motion of the earth too much
for her, so I descended to the herring-bone as more suited to her
capacity.'
'There he is, mamma,' said Sophy, 'pleading that consistency is the
most ruinous thing in the world.
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