“I don’t like those Follingsbees, Lillie.  He is a man I have no respect for; he is one of those shoddy upstarts, not at all our sort of folks.  I’m sorry you asked him.”

“But his wife is my particular friend,” said Lillie, “and they were very polite to mamma and me at Newport; and we really owe them some attention.”

“Well, Lillie, since you have asked them, I will be polite to them; and I will try and do every thing to save you care in this entertainment.  I’ll speak to Bridget myself; she knows our ways, and has been used to managing.”

And so, as John was greatly beloved by Bridget, and as all the domestic staff had the true Irish fealty to the man of the house, and would run themselves off their feet in his service any day,—­it came to pass that the fete was holden, as of yore, in the grounds.  Grace was there and helped, and so were Letitia and Rose Ferguson; and all passed off better than could be expected.  But John did not enjoy it.  He felt all the while that he was dragging Lillie as a thousand-pound weight after him; and he inly resolved that, once out of that day’s festival, he would never try to have it again.

Lillie went to bed with sick headache, and lay two days after it, during which she cried and lamented incessantly.  She “knew she was not the wife for John;” she “always told him he wouldn’t be satisfied with her, and now she saw he wasn’t; but she had tried her very best, and now it was cruel to think she should not succeed any better.”

“My dearest child,” said John, who, to say the truth, was beginning to find this thing less charming than it used to be, “I am satisfied.  I am much obliged to you.  I’m sure you have done all that could be asked.”

“Well, I’m sure I hope those folks of yours were pleased,” quoth Lillie, as she lay looking like a martyr, with a cloth wet in ice-water bound round her head.  “They ought to be; they have left grease-spots all over the sofa in my boudoir, from one end to the other; and cake and raisins have been trodden into the carpets; and the turf around the oval is all cut up; and they have broken my little Diana; and such a din as there was!—­oh, me! it makes my head ache to think of it.”

[Illustration:  “Oh, me! it makes my head ache to think of it.”]

“Never mind, Lillie, I’ll see to it, and set it all right.”

“No, you can’t.  One of the children broke that model of the Leaning Tower too.  I found it.  You can’t teach such children to let things alone.  Oh, dear me! my head!”

“There, there, pussy! only don’t worry,” said John, in soothing tones.

“Don’t think me horrid, please don’t,” said Lillie, piteously.  “I did try to have things go right; didn’t I?”

“Certainly you did, dearie; so don’t worry.  I’ll get all the spots taken out, and all the things mended, and make every thing right.”

So John called Rosa, on his way downstairs.  “Show me the sofa that they spoiled,” said he.