"And your pills from town, too," responded Mrs. Bertram. "I think you are a very wise woman, Mrs. Meadowsweet. How well your daughter plays tennis. Yes, she is decidedly graceful. I have heard of many pills in my day, and patent pills invariably fit one all round, but I have never yet heard of Eleazer Macjone's Life Pills. You look very well, Mrs. Meadowsweet, so I shall recommend them in future. For my part, I think the less drugs one swallows the better." "You are quite right, Mrs. Bertram, quite right. Except for the pills I never touch medicine. And now I'd like to give you a wrinkle. I wouldn't spend much money, if I were you, on Dr. Morris. He's all fads, poor man, all fads. He speaks of the Life Pills as poison, and his terms--I have over and over told his wife, Jessie Morris, that her husband's terms are preposterous." "Then I am afraid he will not suit me," replied Mrs. Bertram, "I cannot afford to meet preposterous terms, for I, alas! am poor." "Dear, dear, I'm truly sorry to hear it, Mrs. Bertram. And with your fine young family, too. That lad of yours is as handsome a young fellow as I've often set eyes on. And your girls, particularly Miss Catherine, are specially genteel." "A great many people consider Catherine handsome," replied her mother, who began to shiver inwardly under the infliction of Mrs. Meadowsweet's talk. She tried to add something about Loftus, but for some reason or other words failed her. After a moment's pause she resumed: "Only those who know what small means are can understand the constant self-denial they inflict. "And that's true enough, Mrs. Bertram." "Ah, Mrs. Meadowsweet, you must be only assuming this sympathetic tone. For, if all reports are true, you and Miss Beatrice are wealthy." Mrs. Meadowsweet's eyes beamed lovingly on her hostess. "We have enough and to spare," she responded. "Thank the good God we have enough and to spare. Meadowsweet saw to that, poor man." "Your husband was in business?" gently in quired Mrs. Bertram. "He kept a shop, Mrs. Bertram. I'm the last to deny it. He kept a good, thriving draper's shop in the High Street. The best of goods he had, and he sold fair. I used to help him in those days. I used to go to London to buy the Spring fashions, and pretty things I'd buy, uncommonly pretty, and the prettiest of all, you may be sure, for little Beatrice. Ah! you could get a stylish hat in Northbury in those days. Poor man, he had the custom of all the country round. There was no shop like Meadowsweet's. Well, he made his fortune in it, and he died full of money and much respected. What could man do more?" "And your daughter Beatrice resembles her father?"