And going up in the lift the words spoke
themselves over and over in my head: "She couldn't know who Robert is,
if it's true she's never been in England before, and if she has come to
London to-day. At least, I don't see how she could."

In silence we let Miss Reardon lead us to the sitting room of her suite
on the third floor. It was small but pretty, and smelt of La France
roses, though none were visible, nor were there any other flowers there.
Robert and I looked at each other as this perfume rushed to meet us. La
France roses were June's favourites, and belonged to the month of her
birth. Robert had sent them to her often, especially when they were out
of season and difficult to get.

"_She_ is here, waiting for us!" exclaimed Miss Reardon. "Oh, _surely_
you must see her--on the sofa, with her feet crossed--such pretty
diamond buckles on her shoes!--and her lap full of roses. She holds up
one rose, she kisses it, to you--Robert--Robert--some name that begins
with L. I can't hear it clearly. But Robert is enough."

Yes, Robert was enough--more than enough!

Miss Reardon asked in an almost matter-of-fact way if he would like to
sit down on the sofa beside June, who wished him to do so. He didn't
answer; but he sat down, and his eyes stared at vacancy. I knew from
their expression, however, that he saw nothing.

"What will be the next thing?" I wondered.

I had not long to wait to find out!

"_She_ asks me to take your hand and hers. Then she will talk to you
through me," Miss Reardon explained. As she spoke, she drew up a small
chair in front of the sofa, leaned forward, took Robert's right hand in
hers, and held out the left, as if grasping another hand--a hand unseen.

As the medium did this, with thin elbows resting on thin knees, she
closed her eyes. A look of _blankness_ came over her face like a mist. I
can't describe it in any other way. Presently her chin dropped slightly.
She seemed to sleep.

Neither Robert nor I had uttered a word since we entered the room. We
waited tensely.

Just what I expected to happen I hardly know, for I had no experience of
"manifestations" or seances. But what did happen surprised me so that I
started, and just contrived to suppress a gasp.

A voice. It did not sound like Miss Reardon's voice, with its rather
pleasant American accent. It was a creamy English voice, young and
full-noted. "_June!_" I whispered under my breath, where I sat across
the length of the room fr