“All right then, I will,” and Fuchsia sat bolt upright. “I’m older than you are, and have knocked about the world a bit, and I can’t help seeing things that are thrust under my nose and drawing an inference. I must tell you that my grandfather was a notable lawyer, and who knows but that a scrap of his mantle may not have descended upon me! Now to answer your question right away—you will admit that pretty often your aunt is dressed like a last year’s scarecrow; that she is drowsy, stupefied, and generally inaccessible. At another time she is real smart and vivacious, and puts other women in the shade. Then suddenly she disappears, shuts herself up along with Lily ayah, and not a soul may approach her—no, not even you. Undoubtedly Lily provides the drug and is handsomely paid. I ask you to look at her jewels and her diamond nose-ring. Your aunt refuses to see a doctor, for a doctor would diagnose her case the instant he set eyes on her; she also refuses to quit Rangoon, and why? Because she would be torn away from what is killing her inch by inch—and that is cocaine!” By the time Fuchsia had ended this speech Sophy’s face was colourless, and, as she unconsciously stroked a piece of ribbon between her fingers, many facts in support of Fuchsia’s verdict flocked into her brain and forced themselves upon her comprehension. She had a conviction that what her friend had just told her was neither more nor less than a dreadful truth. An instant of clear vision had come; scales had fallen from her eyes; she recalled those strange excursions to Ah Shee’s stifling den, the purchase of ivories so soon thrown aside; undoubtedly this collection of netsukes was a blind—her aunt’s real object was to procure _drugs_! “I’m afraid this is an awful blow to you, Sophy,” resumed Fuchsia, “and you will think I had no business to crowd in; but it is best that you should have your eyes opened before it is too late. What do you think yourself, dear?” There was an agonising pause. Self-deception was no longer possible. With an effort she replied: “I am afraid what you have told me is terribly true; it was stupid of me not to have guessed at something of the sort. I see things clearly now that you have put them before my eyes. Many puzzles are explained—the reason Aunt Flora keeps herself isolated; the reason why she has no really intimate friends; the reason why she is so untidy in her dress at times and talks so strangely. I suppose Mr. Krauss knows?” “No!” replied Fuchsia with emphasis, “I have watched him carefully, and I don’t believe he has the faintest suspicion, any more than you had yourself. Your aunt’s ayah, and possibly the cook, are fellow-conspirators, and no doubt the cause of ‘the Missis’s’ long strange illness is common talk in the compound.” “What can be done to cure it? Oh, Fuchsia, _do_ advise me!” “If I were to offer you one piece of advice you would not take it.” “Well, at least allow me to hear it.”