Miss Milligan was of the opinion that a little upsetting was just what the doctor required.

“No—­o.”  The visitor shook her head.  She could not bring her mind to it.  She would prefer to suffer herself.  But did not Miss Milligan think that, in face of such an unreasonable and violent prejudice, a little innocent strategy might be justified?

Miss Milligan thought so, very emphatically.

Mrs. Coombe sighed.  “I do so want to look well for the wedding, you know.  And really, nothing seems to help me like my own particular medicine.  It is hard, very hard, to be without it.”

Miss Milligan did not doubt it.  It seemed, to her, a perfect shame.  But had Mrs. Coombe ever tried “Peebles’ Perfect Pick-me-ups” for the nerves?  They were certainly very excellent.

Yes.  Mrs. Coombe had heard of them and no doubt they were very good for some people.  But constitutions differ so.  On the whole she felt sure that even “Peebles’ Perfect Pick-me-ups” would not suit her nearly as well as her own particular remedy.

It was at this point that Miss Milligan stopped fitting and began to pick her teeth, a sign, as we have before stated, of great mental activity.  If nothing would suit Mrs. Coombe but this one medicine and if the medicine could be obtained in Detroit and if Mrs. Coombe had the correct address—­why not write for it?  It was a brilliant idea, but Mrs. Coombe shook her head.

She had the address, naturally, and she had also thought of writing, but it would be of no use.  Esther and the doctor actually watched her mail.

“Incredible!”

“Oh, not in any offensive way.  They did not mean to be tyrannous.  They were quite convinced that patent medicines were very injurious.  But women suffering from nerves (like yourself, dear Miss Milligan) know that relief is often found in the least likely places and from remedies not mentioned in the Materia Medica.”

Miss Milligan knew that very well.  And people are so hard to convince.  When Mrs. Barker, over the hill, had first recommended that new blood-purifier to Miss Milligan, Miss Milligan had laughed.  But after taking only six bottles she had thanked Mrs. Barker with tears in her eyes.  “And I must say,” added she in a burst of virtuous indignation, “that if I were going to Detroit to-morrow I would bring you back all the patent medicine you wanted, Mrs. Coombe, and be very glad to do it.”

This was most satisfactory save for one small fact, namely that Miss Milligan was not going to Detroit to-morrow.  Mrs. Coombe thanked her very much and raised her arm (which shook sadly) while Miss Milligan pinned in the underarm seam.

“Even as it is,” went on Miss Milligan, “I don’t see why—­a little higher please, and turn a trifle to the light, thank you!—­I don’t see why it can’t be done.  Nobody inspects my mail, thank heaven! and one address is as good to a druggist as another.”