Mr. Lavender's heart was about to fail him when, conjuring up the vision of Aurora, he said in a faint voice: “I wish to see him professionally.” And, while the maid departed up the stairs, he waited in the narrow hall, alternately taking his hat off and putting it on again, so great was his spiritual confusion. “Doctor will see you at once, sir.” Putting his hat on hastily, Mr. Lavender followed her upstairs, feeling at his tooth to make quite sure that he remembered which it was. His courage mounted as he came nearer to his fate, and he marched into the room behind the maid holding his hat on firmly with one hand and his tooth in firmly with the other. There, beside a red velvet dentist's chair, he saw a youngish man dressed in a white coat, with round eyes and a domestic face, who said in good English: “What can I do for you, my dear sir? I fear you are in bain.” “In great pain,” replied Mr. Lavender faintly, “in great pain.” And, indeed, he was; for the nervous crisis from which he was suffering had settled in the tooth, on which he still pressed a finger through his cheek. “Sit down, sir, sit down,” said the young man, “and perhaps it would be better if you should remove your hat. We shall not hurd you—no, no, we shall not hurd you.” At those words, which seemed to cast doubt on his courage, Mr. Lavender recovered all his presence of mind. He took off his hat, advanced resolutely to the chair, sat down in it, and, looking up, said: “Do to me what you will; I shall not flinch, nor depart in any way from the behaviour of those whose duty it is to set an example to others.” So saying, he removed his teeth, and placing them in a bowl on the little swinging table which he perceived on his left hand, he closed his eyes, put his finger in his mouth, and articulated: “'Ith one.” “Excuse me, sir,” said the young German, “but do you wish a dooth oud?” “'At ish my deshire,” said Mr. Lavender, keeping his finger on his tooth, and his eyes closed. “'At one.” “I cannot give you gas without my anaesthedist.” “I dow,” said Mr. Lavender; “be wick.” And, feeling the little cold spy-glass begin to touch his gums, he clenched his hands and thought: “This is the moment to prove that I, too, can die for a good cause. If I am not man enough to bear for my country so small a woe I can never again look Aurora in the face.” The voice of the young dentist dragged him rudely from the depth of his resignation. “Excuse me, but which dooth did you say?” Mr. Lavender again inserted his finger, and opened his eyes. The dentist shook his head. “Imbossible,” he said; “that dooth is perfectly sound. The other two are rotten. But they do not ache?” Mr. Lavender shook his head and repeated: “At one.” “You are my first client this week, sir,” said the young German calmly, “but I cannot that dooth dake out.” At those words Mr. Lavender experienced a sensation as if his soul were creeping back up his legs; he spoke as it reached his stomach.