ker answered, winking at him--he would have winked at the
Duke of Wellington with just as little scruple, for he was in that state
of absence, candour, and fearlessness which a man sometimes possesses
after drinking a couple of bottles of wine--"You know Arthur's a
flat,--about women I mean."

"He is not the first of us, my dear Mr. Harry," answered the Major. "I
have heard something of this--but pray tell me more."

"Why, sir, you see--it's partly my fault. He went to the play one
night--for you see I'm down here readin' for my little go during the
Long, only I come over from Baymouth pretty often in my drag--well,
sir, we went to the play, and Pen was struck all of a heap with Miss
Fotheringay--Costigan her real name is--an uncommon fine gal she is too;
and the next morning I introduced him to the General, as we
call her father--a regular old scamp and such a boy for the
whisky-and-water!--and he's gone on being intimate there. And he's
fallen in love with her--and I'm blessed if he hasn't proposed to her,"
Foker said, slapping his hand on the table, until all the dessert began
to jingle.

"What! you know it too?" asked the Major.

"Know it! don't I? and many more too. We were talking about it at mess,
yesterday, and chaffing Derby Oaks--until he was as mad as a hatter.
Know Sir Derby Oaks? We dined together, and he went to the play: we were
standing at the door smoking, I remember, when you passed in to dinner."

"I remember Sir Thomas Oaks, his father, before he was a Baronet or
a Knight; he lived in Cavendish-square, and was physician to Queen
Charlotte."

"The young one is making the money spin, I can tell you," Mr. Foker
said.

"And is Sir Derby Oaks," the Major said, with great delight and anxiety,
"another soupirant?"

"Another what?" inquired Mr. Foker.

"Another admirer of Miss Fotheringay?"

"Lord bless you! we call him Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, and Pen
Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays. But mind you, nothing wrong! No, no!
Miss F. is a deal too wide-awake for that, Major Pendennis. She plays
one off against the other. What you call two strings to her bow."

"I think you seem tolerably wide-awake, too, Mr. Foker, Pendennis said,
laughing.

"Pretty well, thank you, sir--how are you?" Foker replied,
imperturbably. "I'm not clever, p'raps: but I am rather downy; and
partial friends say I know what's o'clock tolerably well. Can I tell you
the time of day in any way?"

"Upon my word," t