world after all, and that friends might be at hand if only she could reach out to them, her mind began once more to function.
Even while Maw and Elbert were occupying themselves with the parcel's address and its specific importance, June was fain to inquire of an awaking self how such magic words came to be there at such a moment. Casting back to recent events, over which oblivion had swept, she was able to recall certain strands in the subtle woof of Fate. Days ago, years they seemed now, Miss Babraham had sent to William a picture frame to be restored. The stout brown paper in which it had been wrapped appealed to June's thrifty soul, and she had stowed it away in her box for use on a future occasion. Her mind's new, almost dangerous clarity, enabled her to remember that upon the paper's inner side was an old Sotheran, Bookseller, Piccadilly label which bore the name and address of Miss Babraham.
The piecing together of this slender chain gave June the thing she needed most. At this signal manifestation of what Providence could do, hope revived in her. If only she could get to Park Lane—wherever Park Lane might be!—to Miss Babraham.
As if in answer to the half-formed wish, Maw's dominant voice took up the parable. "Elbert, you'd better see this lidy as fur as Park Lane."
