She smiled again and shook her head.

"Oh, I know, I can solve the riddle now. Your years are different, of
course, like everything else in this latitude. A month is called a year
with you, and that would make you, let me see--how much is twelve times
thirty-one? Oh, hang it, nearly five hundred, I should think. Why am I
such a duffer at mental arithmetic! It is just the contrary--how many
twelves in thirty-one? About two and a half in round numbers, and that's
absurd, as you are not a baby. Oh, I have it: your seasons are called
years, of course--why didn't I see it before! No, that would make you
only seven and a half. Ah, yes, I see it now: a year means two years, or
two of your years--summer and winter--mean a year; and that just makes
you sixteen, exactly what I had imagined. Is it not so, Yoletta?"

"I do not know what you are talking about, Smith; and I am not
listening."

"Well, listen for one moment, and tell me how long does a year last?"

"It lasts from the time the leaves fall in the autumn until they fall
again; and it lasts from the time the swallows come in spring until they
come again."

"And seriously, honestly, you are thirty-one years old?"

"Did I not tell you so? Yes, I am thirty-one years old."

"Well, I never heard anything to equal this! Good heavens, what does it
mean? I know it is awfully rude to inquire a lady's age, but what am I