prolonged scrutiny of her pale but now collected self in a confectioner's window on the threshold of the London and Brighton terminus was called for to reassure her. And even then, for a girl so shrewd and so practical, there remained the scar of a distressing mental lapse.
It did not take long to deposit the parcel in the cloak room on the main line down platform. But in the act of doing so, occurred a slight incident which was destined to have a bearing on certain events to follow. When a ticket was handed to her, she could only meet the charge of three pence with a ten shilling note.
"Nothing smaller, Miss?" asked the clerk.
"I'm afraid I haven't," said June, searching her purse, and then carefully placing the ticket in its middle compartment.
"You'll have to wait while I get change then."
"Sorry to trouble you," June murmured, as the clerk went out through a door into an inner office. Ever observant and alert, she noticed that the clerk was a tallish young man, whose freely curling fair hair put her in mind of William, and that he wore a new suit of green corduroy.
The likeness to William gave bouquet to her politeness, when the young man returned with the change. "Sorry to give you so much trouble," she said again.
"No trouble, miss." And Green Corduroy handed the change across the cloak room counter with a frank smile that was not unworthy of William himself.
