That night Lilly cried again all through her sleep, presenting herself next morning at the dentist's with heavy, rimmed eyes. It was her final visit, and before mounting the chair she laid down her carefully counted-out payment, five five-dollar bills, in a little pile on the revolving stand.
Doctor Hotchkiss, with the offshoot of white whiskers from each jowl, and who was fond of pinching her cheek as she lay under his touch, moistened his fingers and counted.
"The charges are fifty dollars," he said.
She was immediately startled.
"Why, Doctor Hotchkiss, you said twenty-five!"
"Fifty, with the bridgework, my dear young woman," he said, the words swimming in the oil of his suavity.
"You said twenty-five."
"You misunderstood, my dear young woman. Twenty-five would not pay for the amount of gold I used. Fifty is what I said. Fifty dollars," his voice rising.
She looked her despair.
"I—It's not honorable. I asked you distinctly. What if I haven't it to spare—"