"Sorrow and danger! What are you talking of, Ishmael?" inquired Mr.
Middleton, knitting his brows in perplexity.
"Lady Vincent is separated from her husband, who has filed a petition for divorce from her," said Ishmael solemnly.
The exclamation of amazement and indignation that burst from Mr.
Middleton's lips was rather too profane to be recorded here.
"Yes, sir; it is so," sighed Ishmael.
"Who says this?" demanded Mr. Middleton, in a voice of suppressed fury.
"She herself says it, sir, in a letter to her father, who has commissioned me to impart the facts in confidence to yourself. Here are the letters he received and desired me to hand to you for perusal. They are numbered one, two, three. Read them in that order, and they will put you in possession of the whole affair, as far as is known to any of us over here."
Mr. Middleton grasped the letters, and one after another devoured their contents.
"This first letter is nearly two months old! Why has it not been acted upon before?" he demanded, in an angry manner, that proved he would have liked to quarrel with somebody.
"It was not received until two days since. It was miscarried and it went half around the world before it reached its proper destination," said Ishmael equably.
"But what does it all mean, then? What plot is this alluded to? And who is in it?"