of. I do something in that way myself—perhaps a good deal—perhaps a little—sharp’s the word, my dear boy—never mind!”
“In what way do you mean? In the rouge way?” said Steerforth.
“Put this and that together, my tender pupil,” returned the wary Mowcher, touching her nose, “work it by the rule of Secrets in all trades, and the product will give you the desired result. I say I do a little in that way myself. One Dowager, she calls it lip-salve. Another, she calls it gloves. Another, she calls it tucker-edging. Another, she calls it a fan. I call it whatever they call it. I supply it for ’em, but we keep up the trick so, to one another, and make believe with such a face, that they’d as soon think of laying it on, before a whole drawing room, as before me. And when I wait upon ’em, they’ll say to me sometimes— with it on —thick, and no mistake—‘How am I looking, Mowcher? Am I pale?’ Ha! ha! ha! ha! Isn’t that refreshing, my young friend!”