This gentleman and his client were now in consultation when Mr.Foker showed his grand dressing-gown and embroidered skull-cap at Major Pendennis's door.
Seeing the Major engaged with papers and red-tape, and an old man with a white head, the modest youth was for drawing back--and said, "O, you're busy--call again another time." But Mr.Pendennis wanted to see him, and begged him, with a smile, to enter: whereupon Mr.Foker took off the embroidered tarboosh or fez (it had been worked by the fondest of mothers) and advanced, bowing to the gentlemen and smiling on them graciously.

Mr.Tatham had never seen so splendid an apparition before as this brocaded youth, who seated himself in an arm-chair, spreading out his crimson skirts, and looking with exceeding kindness and frankness on the other two tenants of the room.

"You seem to like my dressing-gown, sir," he said to Mr.Tatham.

"A pretty thing, isn't it?
Neat, but not in the least gaudy.

And how do you do, Major Pendennis, sir, and how does the world treat you ?" There was that in Foker's manner and appearance which would have put an Inquisitor into good humour, and it smoothed the wrinkles under Pendennis's head of hair.
"I have had an interview with that Irishman (you may speak before my friend, Mr.Tatham here, who knows all the affairs of the family), and it has not, I own, been very satisfactory.