“Promise to take it, no matter how obnoxious?” he admonished, finger in the air.
“Is it castor-oil?” Her smile was almost roguish.
“No, I’m not as cold blooded as you think!” he replied with mock gravity. “Follow me down to the drug store and you’ll see.”
Picking up Bébé, who had fed bountifully off the scraps, he led the way downstairs.
The prescription was contained in a tiny red leather box.
“Why, it looks like rouge!” exclaimed Claire in a horrified tone.
“Some call it so,” said the doctor gayly. “But it would smell as sweet under any other name.” He sniffed at it appreciatively. “Come now,” he continued, utterly regardless of the clerk’s amused eyes. “Come over to the light and we will proceed with the operation. Shall I have to use an anæsthetic?”
“But I’ve never done such a thing in my life!” protested Claire vigorously.
“It’s not at all difficult,” he replied. “It only requires a delicate touch like mine (am I not a surgeon?) and presto! my lady blooms like a wild rose.”
He brushed Claire’s cheekbones lightly with the puff, adding a touch to the small pointed chin. Her lashes fluttering like the wings of a butterfly, Claire let him have his way.