"Dear creature!" cried Charles Marston--"as if she thought I ever took anybody's advice! But to the point. Has a gentleman of the name of Frank Middleton called to inquire for me within the last week or two."
"Oh, dear, yes!" exclaimed Lady Fleetwood; "he called yesterday. I forgot to tell you."
"As if she had had time to tell me anything!" said Charles.
"His card is in the dish," continued Lady Fleetwood. "There is no address on it, or I would have written to him to say you were not expected for some months."
"That would have been kind," said her nephew; "now, how the deuce am I to find him out?"
"Oh! he will call again--he said he would call in a day or two," replied his aunt.
"Wise Frank Middleton!" exclaimed Charles; "he seems to have divined you, my dear aunt."
Lady Fleetwood looked bewildered.
"And now," continued her nephew, "can you tell me what my mysterious uncle, Scriven, wrote to me for, to come back directly, as he wanted to see me on particular business? I always like to meet my excellent uncle prepared--with full forethought of what is to come next; and he was as dark in his communication as the Sphinx's mouth."
"No! did he send for you?" exclaimed Lady Fleetwood. "He did not tell me a word about it--how strange! I saw him only yesterday, and was talking about you, but he did not say a word. He was always very close and discreet, you know, Charles."