"I thought as much," the major said. "You give me a great deal of pleasure, Mr. Foker. I wish I could have seen you before."
"Didn't like to put in my oar," replied the other. "Don't speak till I'm asked, when, if there's no objections, I speak pretty freely. Heard your man had been hankering about my servant—didn't know myself what was going on until Miss Fotheringay and Miss Rouncy had the row about the ostrich feathers, when Miss R. told me every thing."
"Miss Rouncy, I gather, was the confidante of the other."
"Confidant? I believe you. Why she's twice as clever a girl as Fotheringay, and literary and that, while Miss Foth can't do much more than read."
"She can write," said the major, remembering Pen's breast pocket.
Foker broke out into a sardonic "He, he! Rouncy writes her letters," he said; "every one of 'em; and since they've quarreled, she don't know how the deuce to get on. Miss Rouncy is an uncommon pretty hand, whereas the old one makes dreadful work of the writing and spelling when Bows ain't by. Rouncy's been settin' her copies lately—she writes a beautiful hand, Rouncy does."
"I suppose you know it pretty well," said the major archly: upon which Mr. Foker winked at him again.
"I would give a great deal to have a specimen of her handwriting," continued Major Pendennis, "I dare say you could give me one."
"No, no, that would be too bad," Foker replied. "Perhaps I oughtn't to have said as much as I have. Miss F.'s writin' ain't so very bad, I dare say; only she got Miss R. to write the first letter, and has gone on ever since. But you mark my word, that till they are friends again the letters will stop."
"I hope they will never be reconciled," the major said, with great sincerity; "and I can't tell you how delighted I am to have had the good fortune of making your acquaintance. You must feel, my dear sir, as a man of the world, how fatal to my nephew's prospects in life is this step which he contemplates, and how eager we all must be to free him from this absurd engagement."