Plun. None of them suit me. You see, I had a maid once—a little serving maid—the gayest, prettiest creature—but she ran away from me—
Nan. Perhaps you were not kind to her?
Plun. Kind, I? I was kindness itself! I was too kind! I killed her with kindness!
Nan. Well, that's the trouble, then. A girl needs a good firm upstanding sort of a way, to keep her in her place. Don't be too easy,—take my advice. But tell me about your servant.
Plun. O, I don't know as she was so much, after all. But I found her amusing. She was a well-meaning sort of creature, and rather good looking, but she couldn't do a thing! She could not knit or spin, she could only laugh and joke.—But ignorant as she was, she knew one thing.
Nan. What was that?
Plun. How to make me miss her!
Nan. Perhaps she misses you!
Plun. (starts toward her). Nancy—my little Betsy Ann!
Nan. And though she does not know the things you say, though she is a poor silly creature who never did a useful thing in all her life—could she not learn?