I was, very naturally, nettled at this.

"So will you be soon," I retorted.

"Not soon," said Dolly.

"Some day," I insisted.

After a pause of about half a minute, Dolly said, "I suppose so."

"You will become," I pursued, idly drawing patterns with my
finger on the sundial, "wrinkled, rough, fat--and, perhaps,
good."

"You're very disagreeable today," said Dolly.

She rose and stood by me.

"What do the mottoes mean?" she asked.

There were two; I will not say they contradicted one another, but
they looked at life from different points of view.

"Pereunt et imputantur," I read.

"Well, what's that, Mr. Carter?"

"A trite, but offensive, assertion," said I, lighting a
cigarette.