"How long will that take me?" quod she.
"Why," say I, "if you count a Hundred a Minute, that is, six Thousand in an Hour, and count at that Rate for fourteen Hours in the twenty-four, you may in twelve Days count a Million."
"Hold, hold!" cries she, "you will make me puzzle-headed for a week!" and so, runs off.
Next Time I saw her alone, I say, "Well, Mistress, are you in the Humour for Practice?"
"No," quoth she with Decision, "I know Figures already!" And commenced tinkling on her Virginals. So, there an End ... or might ha' been, were any Woman two Days o' the same Mind. But, shortly, she cometh to me with a Tear in her Eye.
"Ned," saith she, "what's to be done? I gave all the Money in my Purse (there wasn't much), to the Girdler's Widow, hard by St. Anne in the Willows; and now, I can't make up my Father's Accounts, and shall seem unto him a Defaulter."
"Or be one ... which?" quod I. "What is to do?"
"What can I do?" returns she.
"Marry," say I, "I can lend you the Money."
"Nay," quoth she quickly, "it would not be right in me to take it."