Ada shook her head, as she said,—
“Do you know where resides a Mr. Seyton?”
“No,” replied the woman. “This London is such an immense place, that it’s like looking for a needle in a bottle of hay to find anybody.”
“If I could find him,” sighed Ada, “he would be my friend. Is there a gentleman named Sir Francis Hartleton?”
“Indeed there is; and if you want him, he lives close at hand. He is a magistrate, and as good a man as ever breathed.”
“Indeed,” said Ada, “’Tis very strange!”
“What’s strange, my dear?”
“Oh, nothing—nothing. Can you show me to his house?”
“Yes; if you come to the door, I can point it out for you, though he very likely to be at his office, and that’s across the park.”
Ada accompanied the old woman to her outer door, and she pointed out to the refreshed and much revived girl a handsome house, as the residence of Sir Francis Hartleton.