In a dentist's operating room on a fine August morning in 1896.Not the usual tiny London den, but the best sitting room of a furnished lodging in a terrace on the sea front at a fashionable watering place.
The operating chair, with a gas pump and cylinder beside it, is half way between the centre of the room and one of the corners.If you look into the room through the window which lights it, you will see the fireplace in the middle of the wall opposite you, with the door beside it to your left; an M.R.C.S.diploma in a frame hung on the chimneypiece; an easy chair covered in black leather on the hearth; a neat stool and bench, with vice, tools, and a mortar and pestle in the corner to the right.
Near this bench stands a slender machine like a whip provided with a stand, a pedal, and an exaggerated winch.Recognising this as a dental drill, you shudder and look away to your left, where you can see another window, underneath which stands a writing table, with a blotter and a diary on it, and a chair.Next the writing table, towards the door, is a leather covered sofa.The opposite wall, close on your right, is occupied mostly by a bookcase.The operating chair is under your nose, facing you, with the cabinet of instruments handy to it on your left.
You observe that the professional furniture and apparatus are new, and that the wall paper, designed, with the taste of an undertaker, in festoons and urns, the carpet with its symmetrical plans of rich, cabbagy nosegays, the glass gasalier with lustres; the ornamental gilt rimmed blue candlesticks on the ends of the mantelshelf, also glass-draped with lustres, and the ormolu clock under a glass-cover in the middle between them, its uselessness emphasized by a cheap American clock disrespectfully placed beside it and now indicating 12 o'clock noon, all combine with the black marble which gives the fireplace the air of a miniature family vault, to suggest early Victorian commercial respectability, belief in money, Bible fetichi**, fear of hell always at war with fear of poverty, instinctive horror of the passionate character of art, love and Roman Catholic religion, and all the first fruits of plutocracy in the early generations of the industrial revolution.
There is no shadow of this on the two persons who are occupying the room just now.One of them, a very pretty woman in miniature, her tiny figure dressed with the daintiest gaiety, is of a later generation, being hardly eighteen yet.This darling little creature clearly does not belong to the room, or even to the country; for her complexion, though very delicate, has been burnt biscuit color by some warmer sun than England's; and yet there is, for a very subtle observer, a link between them.For she has a glass of water in her hand, and a rapidly clearing cloud of Spartan obstinacy on her tiny firm set mouth and quaintly squared eyebrows.If the least line of conscience could be traced between those eyebrows, an Evangelical might cherish some faint hope of finding her a sheep in wolf's clothing - for her frock is recklessly pretty - but as the cloud vanishes it leaves her frontal sinus as smoothly free from conviction of sin as a kitten's.
The dentist, contemplating her with the self-satisfaction of a successful operator, is a young man of thirty or thereabouts.He does not give the impression of being much of a workman: his professional manner evidently strikes him as being a joke, and is underlain by a thoughtless pleasantry which betrays the young gentleman still unsettled and in search of amusing adventures, behind the newly set-up dentist in search of patients.He is not without gravity of demeanor; but the strained nostrils stamp it as the gravity of the humorist.His eyes are clear, alert, of sceptically moderate size, and yet a little rash; his forehead is an excellent one, with plenty of room behind it; his nose and chin cavalierly handsome.On the whole, an attractive, noticeable beginner, of whose prospects a man of business might form a tolerably favorable estimate.
THE YOUNG LADY (handing him the glass).Thank you.(In spite of the biscuit complexion she has not the slightest foreign accent.)THE DENTIST (putting it down on the ledge of his cabinet of instruments).That was my first tooth.
THE YOUNG LADY (aghast).Your first! Do you mean to say that you began practising on me?
THE DENTIST.Every dentist has to begin on somebody.
THE YOUNG LADY.Yes: somebody in a hospital, not people who pay.
THE DENTIST (laughing).Oh, the hospital doesn't count.I only meant my first tooth in private practice.Why didn't you let me give you gas?
THE YOUNG LADY.Because you said it would be five shillings extra.
THE DENTIST (shocked).Oh, don't say that.It makes me feel as if Ihad hurt you for the sake of five shillings.
THE YOUNG LADY (with cool insolence).Well, so you have! (She gets up.) Why shouldn't you? it's your business to hurt people.(It amuses him to be treated in this fashion: he chuckles secretly as he proceeds to clean and replace his instruments.She shakes her dress into order;looks inquisitively about her; and goes to the window.) You have a good view of the sea from these rooms! Are they expensive?
THE DENTIST.Yes.
THE YOUNG LADY.You don't own the whole house, do you?
THE DENTIST.No.
THE YOUNG LADY (taking the chair which stands at the writing-table and looking critically at it as she spins it round on one leg.) Your furniture isn't quite the latest thing, is it?
THE DENTIST.It's my landlord's.
THE YOUNG LADY.Does he own that nice comfortable Bath chair?
(pointing to the operating chair.)
THE DENTIST.No: I have that on the hire-purchase system.
THE YOUNG LADY (disparagingly).I thought so.(Looking about her again in search of further conclusions.) I suppose you haven't been here long?
THE DENTIST.Six weeks.Is there anything else you would like to know?
THE YOUNG LADY (the hint quite lost on her).Any family?
THE DENTIST.I am not married.
