'Miss Peterkin has fainted, and get off the boot as soon as possible.

Don't you see how her foot is swelling ?' This to Peterkin, who made a dive at the boot, which resisted all his efforts, even after it was unbuttoned.

The leather, which was soaked through, had shrunk so that it was impossible to remove the boot without cutting it away, and this they commenced to do.
Ann Eliza had recovered her consciousness by this time, and although the pain was terrible she bore it heroically, as piece after piece of the boot was removed, together with the silk stocking which left her poor little swollen foot exposed and bare.
'By Jove, she's plucky!' Tom thought, as he watched the operation and saw the great drops of sweat on Ann Eliza's forehead and her efforts to quiet her mother, pretending that it did not hurt so very much.

'Yes, she's plucky,' and for the first time in his life Tom was conscious of a feeling of something like respect for Peterkin's red-haired daughter.
'She _has_ a small foot, too; the smallest I ever saw on a woman.

I do believe she wears twos,' he thought, while something about the little white foot made him think of poor Jack's dead feet, laid under the grass years ago.
In this softened frame of mind he at last said good-night, although pressed by Peterkin to stay and dry himself, or at least take a drink as a preventive against cold, but Tom declined both, saying a hot bath would set him all right.