you'd see which of the two Miss Fotheringay would jump at."

"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 everything."

"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 quarrelled, 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 hand-writing,"