"Just done breakfast I see--how do?" said Mr. Foker, popping in his
little funny head.
"Get out, you funny little man," cried Miss Fotheringay.
"You mean come in, answered the other.--Here we are!" and entering the
room he folded his arms and began twirling his head round and round with
immense rapidity, like Harlequin in the Pantomime when he first issues
from his cocoon or envelope. Miss Fotheringay laughed with all her heart:
a wink of Foker's would set her off laughing, when the bitterest joke
Bows ever made could not get a smile from her, or the finest of poor
Pen's speeches would only puzzle her. At the end of the harlequinade he
sank down on one knee and kissed her hand. "You're the drollest little
man," she said, and gave him a great good-humoured slap. Pen used to
tremble as he kissed her hand. Pen would have died of a slap.
These preliminaries over, the three began to talk; Mr. Foker amused his
companions by recounting to them the scene which he had just witnessed of
the discomfiture of Mr. Garbetts, by which they learned, for the first
time, how far the General had carried his wrath against Major Pendennis.
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