By this time the carriage had driven away, and M’lle Fanchette prepared to go to her shop.
Our party did not at once drive to Twenty-second street, but farther up on the island, through that portion of the city, then wholly unsettled, which is now occupied by the Central Park. It was a charming morning. Helen was in the best of spirits, and even Mr. Ford forgot, for the time, his invention, and drank in the sweet influences of the day. To Martha, confined in her room for so long, whose only prospect had been the brick wall opposite, it seemed like a dream of Paradise. Memories of her childhood came back to her, and her eyes involuntarily filled with tears as she thought of that sweet, unforgotten time. Mr. Sharp was in excellent spirits, livelier, and more affable even than usual, and kept up the spirits of the party by his jocular remarks.
At length the carriage stopped.
The driver jumped from his seat, and threw open the door of the carriage.
“We haven’t got home?” said Martha, a little bewildered.
“Oh, I forgot to tell you,” said Helen; “Mr. Sharp has invited us to look over a house which he has just secured for some friends of his.”
“What a handsome house!” said Martha. “They must be rich people.”
“Yes,” said Mr. Sharp, with an incomprehensible smile, “I assure you that they are quite rich.”
“They wouldn’t object to our visit?” asked Martha, timidly.
“O no, not at all. In fact they gave me permission to bring you here.”