“About what?” said the doctor, looking up.
“About the black stain. Will she always be like that?”
“Pooh, nonsense! my dear. It is only a stain, which has thoroughly permeated, if I may so term it, the outer skin. Soon wear off, my dear—soon wear off.”
“But her teeth, Henry?”
“Come right in time, my dear, with plenty of tooth-powder; all but the filing.”
“But that is a terrible disfigurement.”
“Oh, that will go off in time. The teeth are always growing and being worn down at the edges; but what does it matter? she is ten times as nice a girl as she was before.”
“Yes,” said Mrs Bolter, thoughtfully; “and now, Henry, if I could only have my mind set at rest about Arthur, I believe I should be a happy woman.”
“Then we’ll soon set your mind at rest about him,” said the doctor. “I never felt that I could leave you till Helen was safe from a relapse.”
“Leave me, Henry!” cried the little lady.