“But you might also get the pimples.”
At this the nurse burst into laughter so loud that the bric-a-brac rattled. “Oh, oh, oh! Dear lady, let me tell you, we ain’t city folks, we ain’t; we don’t have such soft skins. What sort of talk is that? Pimples—what difference would that make to poor folks like us? We don’t have a white complexion like the ladies of Paris. We are out all day in the fields, in the sun and the rain, instead of rubbing cold cream on our muzzles! No offense, ma’am—but I say if you’re looking for an excuse to get rid of me, you must get a better one than that.”
“Excuse!” exclaimed the other. “What in the world do you mean?”
“Oh, I know!” said the nurse, nodding her head.
“But speak!”
“It’s no use, when you’re only a poor country woman.”
“I don’t understand you! I swear to you that I don’t understand you!”
“Well,” sneered the other, “I understand.”
“But then—explain yourself.”
“No, I don’t want to say it.”