"

"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?"

"She does, Mrs. Bertram. He was a very genteel man--a cut above me, as I
said before. He was fond of books, and but for me maybe he'd have got
into trade in the book line. But I warned him off that shoal. I said to
him, scores of times, 'Mark my words, William, dress will last, and
books won't. People must be clothed, but they needn't read.' He was wise
enough to stick to my words, and he made his fortune."

"I suppose," said Mrs. Bertram, in a slow, meditative voice, "that
a--um--merchant--in a small town like this, might, with care, realize,
say, two or three thousand pounds."

Mrs. Meadowsweet's ey