"He's gone."

"Where?"

"I haven't an idea."

"Doesn't he ever come back?"

"You must not assume," said I with severity, "that you are the only
devotee of high art. You may perhaps compare your devotion to that of
another whom I might mention when you, too, have lost ten pounds and
gained ten years--"

"Dominie! Has he?"

"Has he what?"

"G-g-g-gained ten pounds. I mean, lost ten years."

"I haven't said so."

"Dominie, you are a cruel old man," accused the butterfly.

"And you are a wicked woman."

"I'm not. I'm only twenty," was her irrelevant but natural defense.

"Witness, on your oath, answer; were you at any time in the evening or
night before you departed from this, Our Square, leaving us