Captain Levison, unwashed, unshaven, with a dressing-gown loosely flung on, lounged in to breakfast.  The decked-out dandies before the world are frequently the greatest slovens in domestic privacy.  He wished her good morning in a careless tone of apathy, and she as apathetically answered to it.

“Pierre says there are some letters,” he began.  “What a precious hot day it is!”

“Two,” was her short reply, her tone sullen as his.  For if you think my good reader, that the flattering words, the ardent expressions, which usually attend the first go-off of these promising unions last out a whole ten months, you are in egregious error.  Compliments the very opposite to honey and sweetness have generally supervened long before.  Try it, if you don’t believe me.

“Two letters,” she continued, “and they are both in the same handwriting—­your solicitors’, I believe.”

Up went his hand at the last word, and he made a sort of grab at the letters, stalked to the farthest window, opened it, and glanced over its contents.

“Sir—­We beg to inform you that the suit Carlyle vs.  Carlyle, is at an end.  The divorce was pronounced without opposition.  According to your request, we hasten to forward you the earliest intimation of the fact.

“We are, sir, faithfully yours,

“MOSS & GRAB.

“F.  LEVISON, Esq.”

It was over, then, and all claim to the name of Carlyle was declared to have been forfeited by the Lady Isabel forever.  Captain Levison folded up the letter, and placed it securely in an inner pocket.

“Is there any news?” she asked.

“News!”

“Of the divorce, I mean?”

“Tush!” was the response of Captain Levison, as if wishing to imply that the divorce was yet a far-off affair, and he proceeded to open the other letter.

“Sir—­After sending off our last, dated to-day, we received tidings of the demise of Sir Peter Levison, your grand-uncle.  He expired this afternoon in town, where he had come for the benefit of medical advice.  We have much pleasure in congratulating you upon your accession to the title and estates, and beg to state that should it not be convenient to you to visit England at present, we will be happy to transact all necessary matters for you, on your favoring us with instructions.  And we remain, sir, most faithfully yours,

“MOSS & GRAB.

“SIR FRANCIS LEVISON, Bart.”

The outside of the letter was superscribed as the other, “F.  Levison, Esquire,” no doubt with a view to its more certain delivery.

“At last, thank the pigs!” was the gentleman’s euphonious expression, as he tossed the letter, open, on the breakfast-table.

“The divorce is granted!” feverishly uttered Lady Isabel.

He made no reply, but seated himself to breakfast.

“May I read the letter?  Is it for me to read?”

“For what else should I have thrown it there?” he said.