“Well, you ask the doctors. There’s a good few cases of lunacy and suicide in this country—all caused by a love charm; so when Ma Chit sidles up, showing her teeth, and offers you a smoke—you will know what to do. Now,” concluded the visitor, scrambling to his feet, “I must be on the move. I am stopping for a while at the big Pongye Kyoung, near the Turtle Tank, and if you should happen to be riding round that way, we might have a talk on this cocaine business. If I am to go into it, neck and crop, I can’t be coming about here—as it would excite suspicion.” “All right then; I’ll turn up and you will report progress; but how am I to spot you among the crowd of priests?” “Easy enough!” replied Mung Baw, drawing himself up to his full height; “I’m the tallest _pongye_ in Rangoon.” “Yes, no doubt. Burmese are a bit undersized.” “But fine, able-bodied fellows. I suppose you’ve seen the wrestlers?” “Yes. Now, before you go, can I get you a drink or a smoke?” “Oh, as for a smoke, I’m thinking your tobacco would not be strong enough for me, but I don’t say that I wouldn’t like a drink, although I am a sober man; just the least little taste of whisky and water, as a sort of souvenir of old times. Ye might bring it in here, for I don’t want them native chaps makin’ a scandal about me.” As soon as the _pongye_ had been secretly supplied with a fairly moderate souvenir, he resumed his sandals, picked up his umbrella and begging-bowl and, with a military salute to Shafto, swept down the rickety stairs. CHAPTER XXX ENLIGHTENMENT Miss Fuschia Bliss was still in Rangoon and, as she modestly expressed it, “crawling round, on approval.” She had brought letters of introduction to the Lieutenant-Governor, the Pomeroys, and the Gregorys. Sir Horace and Lady Winter had no young people, so she presently passed on to the Pomeroys, who in their turn reluctantly yielded their guest to Mrs. Gregory. Hosts and hostesses were only too glad to secure the company of Miss Bliss, a girl who had seen so many strange countries, and noticed so much with her sharp eyes, that her inferences and original remarks were equally novel and interesting. Fuchsia’s society was invigorating, and the American could easily have put in twelve months in Burma if so disposed. But one obstacle—and one only—interposed, and detained her from joining her friends in Cairo. (This is in the strictest confidence.) She was awaiting the moment when that great, big stupid Irishman would speak! Although Fuchsia looked no more than two- or three-and-twenty, eight-and-twenty summers had passed over her ash-coloured head. She had received an excellent education, had travelled far, and was as experienced and worldly-wise as any matron of fifty. Indeed, in natural wit and the art of putting two and two together, she was considerably ahead of most of her sex.