To spring forward was but a natural impulse, and in a moment the driver reined up his horses at the sign given by Florence. Leaving his box, he stepped to the pavement, saying, as he did so,—
“Want a carriage, miss?”
“I wish to ask you a question or two first,” replied Florence, slightly confused at the abruptness with which she was confronted by the man.
“As many as you please, miss,” returned the hack-driver.
“How long is it since that woman left your house?” asked Florence, turning to the girl.
“About two weeks,” was answered.
“In the morning or afternoon?”
“In the morning.”
“And this is the man who drove her away?”
“I think so. He looks like him, ony way.”