You see, Aunt Hobson, she's very kind, you know, and all that, but I don't think she's what you call comme il faut." "Why, how are you to judge ?" asks the father, amused at the lad's candid prattle, "and where does the difference lie ?" "I can't tell you what it is, or how it is," the boy answered, "only one can't help seeing the difference.

It isn't rank and that; only somehow there are some men gentlemen and some not, and some women ladies and some not.

There's Jones now, the fifth form master, every man sees he's a gentleman, though he wears ever so old clothes; and there's Mr.Brown, who oils his hair, and wears rings, and white chokers--my eyes! such white chokers!--and yet we call him the handsome snob! And so about Aunt Maria, she's very handsome and she's very finely dressed, only somehow she's not--she's not the ticket, you see." "Oh, she's not the ticket," says the Colonel, much amused.
"Well, what I mean is--but never mind," says the boy.

"I can't tell you what I mean.

I don't like to make fun of her, you know, for after all, she is very kind to me; but Aunt Anne is different, and it seems as if what she says is more natural; and though she has funny ways of her own too, yet somehow she looks grander,"-- and here the lad laughed again.
"And do you know, I often think that as good a lady as Aunt Anne herself, is old Aunt Honeyman at Brighton--that is, in all essentials, you know.