“Do you live in (sic) Philadelphia? Could I see her?” asked the lady, eagerly.
“I live in New York, madam,” said Jack; “but Ida was stolen from us nearly a fortnight since, and I have come here in pursuit of her. I have not been able to find her yet.”
“Did you say her name was Ida?” demanded the lady, in strange agitation.
“Yes, madam.”
“My young friend,” said the lady, rapidly, “I have been much interested in the story of your sister. I should like to hear more, but not here. Would you have any objection to coming home with me, and telling me the rest? Then we will, together, concert measures for discovering her.”
“You are very kind, madam,” said Jack, somewhat bashfully; for the lady was elegantly dressed, and it had never been his fortune to converse with many ladies of her rank; “I shall be very much obliged to you for your advice and assistance.”
“Then we will drive home at once.”
Jack followed her to the street, where he saw an elegant carriage, and a coachman in livery.
With natural gallantry, Jack assisted the lady into the carriage, and, at her bidding, got in himself.
“Home, Thomas!” she directed the driver; “and drive as fast as possible.”