"Does it hurt?" he asked, digging into it with a steel instrument.
"Yes," Vanda replied, untruthfully.
"Shall I remind him?" she was wondering. "He would be sure to remember me. But that servant! Why will she stand there?"
Finkel suddenly snorted like a steam-engine right into her mouth, and said:
"I don't advise you to have it stopped. That tooth will never be worth keeping anyhow."
After probing the tooth a little more and soiling Vanda's lips and gums with his tobacco-stained fingers, he held his breath again, and put something cold into her mouth. Vanda suddenly felt a sharp pain, cried out, and clutched at Finkel's hand.
"It's all right, it's all right," he muttered; "don't you be frightened! That tooth would have been no use to you, anyway . . . you must be brave. . ."
And his tobacco-stained fingers, smeared with blood, held up the tooth to her eyes, while the maid approached and put a basin to her mouth.
"You wash out your mouth with cold water when you get home, and that will stop the bleeding," said Finkel.
He stood before her with the air of a man expecting her to go, waiting to be left in peace.