Astolaine. And to-day is the twenty-first.
Rosalys. This year.
Christabel. So it must be a year and a day to-day.
Sir Dandiprat. Pooh, that's not the way to reckon it. It ought to be done by arithmetic. Let me see—[He shuts his eyes and repeats.]
- "Thirty days hath September,
- "April, June and . . ."
Christabel. [Interupting.] That's no use!
Sir Dandiprat. Oh, I know—I know now! How many days are there in a year.
Rosalys. [Hiding a smile.] Three hundred and sixty-five usually.
Sir Dandiprat. I've got it now! Quiet! Quiet! I take June twentieth, [He writes on his tablet with his big gold pencil.] and add three hundred and sixty-five. She ought to arrive on June
