He leaned forward and looked closely at her chin. The surface, once blotched and roughened, was now of a smooth and soft translucency. “You once objected to the word ‘sweat,’” he continued. “Well, it has eliminated the more objectionable word ‘pimple’ from your reckoning. And it has done the job better than your blemish-remover—-which leaves scars.”
Her hand went to her temple, where there was a little group of silvery-white patches on the skin. “Can’t you fix that?” she asked anxiously.
“No. Your ‘remover’ was corrosive sublimate. It certainly removed the blemish. It would also have removed your entire face if you had used enough of it. Nothing can restore what the liquid fire has burned away. That’s the penalty you pay for foolish credulousness. Fortunately, it is where it won’t show much.”
Gloom surged back into her face. “It doesn’t make any difference,” she fretted. “I’m still a mess in looks even if I don’t feel so much like one.”
“One half of looks is expression,” stated the doctor didactically. “I don’t like yours. What’s your religion?”
His patient stared. “Why, I’m a Presbyterian, I suppose.”
“Humph! You suppose! It doesn’t seem to have struck in very hard. Any objection to going to a Christian Science church?”
“Christian Science! I thought the regular doctors considered it the worst kind of quackery.”
“The regular doctors,” returned Dr. Strong quickly, “once considered anaesthesia, vaccination, and the germ theory as quackery. We live and learn, like others. There’s plenty of quackery in Christian Science, and also quite a little good. And nowadays we’re learning to accept the good in new dogmas, and discard the bad.”
“And you really wish me to go to the Christian Science church?”