Curdie, your mother's foot is as pretty a foot as any lady's in the land, and where her hand is not so pretty it comes of killing its beauty for you and me, my boy.

And I can tell you more, Curdie.

I don't know much about ladies and gentlemen, but I am sure your inside mother must be a lady, as her hand tells you, and I will try to say how I know it.

This is how: when I forget myself looking at her as she goes about her work--and that happens often as I grow older--I fancy for a moment or two that I am a gentleman; and when I wake up from my little dream, it is only to feel the more strongly that I must do everything as a gentleman should.

I will try to tell you what I mean, Curdie.