Amelius had heard of men (in books) who had found reason to doubt whether their own ears were not deceiving them. For the first time, he began to understand those men, and to sympathize with them. He admitted, in a certain bewildered way, that he was an admirer of pretty feet—and waited for what was to come next.
“When a woman has a pretty hand,” Mrs. Farnaby proceeded; “she is ready enough to show it. When she goes out to a ball, she favours you with a view of her bosom, and a part of her back. Now tell me! If there is no impropriety in a naked bosom—where is the impropriety in a naked foot?”
Amelius agreed, like a man in a dream.
“Where, indeed!” he remarked—and waited again for what was to come next.
“Look out of the window,” said Mrs. Farnaby.
Amelius obeyed. The window had been opened for a few inches at the top, no doubt to ventilate the room. The dull view of the courtyard was varied by the stables at the farther end, and by the kitchen skylight rising in the middle of the open space. As Amelius looked out, he observed that some person at that moment in the kitchen required apparently a large supply of fresh air. The swinging window, on the side of the skylight which was nearest to him, was invisibly and noiselessly pulled open from below; the similar window, on the other side, being already wide open also. Judging by appearance, the inhabitants of the kitchen possessed a merit which is exceedingly rare among domestic servants—they understood the laws of ventilation, and appreciated the blessing of fresh air.
“That will do,” said Mrs. Farnaby. “You can turn round now.”
Amelius turned. Mrs. Farnaby’s boots and stockings were on the hearthrug, and one of Mrs. Farnaby’s feet was placed, ready for inspection, on the chair which he had just left. “Look at my right foot first,” she said, speaking gravely and composedly in her ordinary tone.
It was well worth looking at—a foot equally beautiful in form and in colour: the instep arched and high, the ankle at once delicate and strong, the toes tinged with rose-colour at the tips. In brief, it was a foot to be photographed, to be cast in plaster, to be fondled and kissed. Amelius attempted to express his admiration, but was not allowed to get beyond the first two or three words. “No,” Mrs. Farnaby explained, “this is not vanity—simply information. You have seen my right foot; and you have noticed that there is nothing the matter with it. Very well. Now look at my left foot.”
She put her left foot up on the chair. “Look between the third toe and the fourth,” she said.