“It isn’t anything really, Cousin Penelope,” pleaded Caroline. “I didn’t mean to—I’m sorry. It was the sugar on the date—and my tooth——”
“Which tooth?”
Caroline almost jumped, so peremptory was Cousin Penelope’s voice.
“The one with the hole in it,” she faltered, “but it’s been there ever so long.”
“Well!” said Cousin Penelope.
Further words failed her. She looked at Aunt Eunice. Aunt Eunice looked at her. Volumes of accusation of Edith Delane were in those looks. A woman, according to the Gildersleeve code, might as well neglect a child’s immortal soul as neglect its teeth.
“We won’t waste time with any of these local dentists,” Cousin Penelope broke the silence in which Caroline sat quaking. “I shall take Jacqueline down to Boston early in the morning. It promises to be a fine day. We’ll take the car. I’ll have Dr. Stoddard look her over. If he won’t take her himself, he can tell me of some dentist who makes a specialty of children.”
But this was awful, thought Caroline. Dentistry was fearfully expensive. Cousin Delia had said so, when Caroline’s tooth had first begun to trouble her. And now here was Caroline letting Jacqueline’s relatives give her dentistry that was meant for Jacqueline. There were tears in the little girl’s voice as she pleaded hopelessly:
“But I don’t want to go to a dentist—don’t make me, please! My tooth doesn’t hurt much—I’m used to it and——”
“That means the nerve is dying,” said Cousin Penelope, in a solemn voice. “Of all the criminal neglect!”