“She is not like you,” continued the good lady, with some naivete.

“No, no,” responded the gratified mother.  “And sorry I’d be to think that Beatrice took after me.  I’m commonplace.  Mrs. Bertram.  I have no figure to boast of, nor much of a face either.  What he saw to like in me, poor man, has puzzled my brain a score and score of times.  Kind and affectionate he ever was, but he couldn’t but own, as own I did for him, that I was a cut below him.  Beatrice features her father, Mrs. Bertram, both in mind and body.”

Mrs. Bertram murmured some compliment about the mother’s kind heart, and then turned to a subject which is known to be of infallible interest to all ladies.  She spoke of her ailments.

Mrs. Meadowsweet beamed all over when this subject came on the tapis.  She even laid her fat hand on Mrs. Bertram’s lap.

“Now, did you ever try Eleazer Macjone’s Pills of Life?” she asked.  “I always have a lot of them in the house; and I assure you, Mrs. Bertram, they are worth all the doctor’s messes put together; for years I have taken the pills, and it’s a positive fact that they’re made to fit the human body all round.  Headaches—­it’s wonderful what Macjone’s pills do for headaches.  If you have a low, all-overish feeling, Macjone’s pills pick you up directly.  They are wonderful, too, for colds; and if there’s any infection going they nip it in the bud.  I wish you would try them, Mrs. Bertram; I know they’d pull you round, I’ll send for a box for you with pleasure when I’m having my next chest of tea down from London.  I always get my tea from London.  I think what they sell here is little better than dishwater; so I say to Beatrice, ’Bee, my love, whatever happens, we’ll get our tea from town.”

“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.”