Mr. Follingsbee was forward, fussy, and advisory, in his own peculiar free-and-easy fashion; and Mrs. Follingsbee was instructive and patronizing to the very last degree. Lillie had bewailed in her sympathizing bosom John’s unaccountable and most singular moral Quixotism in regard to the wine question, and been comforted by her appreciative discourse. Mrs. Follingsbee had a sort of indefinite faith in French phrases for mending all the broken places in life. A thing said partly in French became at once in her view elucidated, even though the words meant no more than the same in English; so she consoled Lillie as follows:— “Oh, _ma chère_! I understand perfectly: your husband may be ‘_un peu borné_,’ as they say in Paris, but still ‘_un homme très respectable_,’ (Mrs. Follingsbee here scraped her throat emphatically, just as her French maid did),—a sublime example of the virtues; and let me tell you, darling, you are very fortunate to get such a man. It is not often that a woman can get an establishment like yours, and a good man into the bargain; so, if the goodness is a little _ennuyeuse_, one must put up with it. Then, again, people of old established standing may do about what they like socially: their position is made. People only say, ‘Well, that is their way; the Seymours will do so and so.’ Now, we have to do twice as much of every thing to make our position, as certain other people do. We might flood our place with champagne and Burgundy, and get all the young fellows drunk, as we generally do; and yet people will call our parties ‘_bourgeois_,’ and yours ‘_recherché_,’ if you give them nothing but tea and biscuit. Now, there’s my Dick: he respects your husband; you can see he does. In his odious slang way, he says he’s ‘some’ and ‘a brick;’ and he’s a little anxious to please him, though he professes not to care for anybody. Now, Dick has pretty sharp sense, after all, or he’d never have been just where he is.”