Fuchsia glanced sharply at Sophy, who was carefully manipulating a large bow.

Was she recalling a domestic picture?  Did any suspicion sink into her simple mind?  If such was the case the girl gave no sign.

“These drug-maniacs’ lives are a real burden,” continued Fuchsia; “they become indolent and slovenly; all they want in the whole world is more, and more, and more—­cocaine.  The effect on some is to clear and stimulate the brain and, for a short time, they seem superhuman; but soon this marvellous illumination that has flared up dies down like a fire of straw, and leaves them nothing but the cold ashes.”

“Fuchsia,” said her companion, suddenly raising her head and gazing at her steadily, “I believe you are thinking of someone.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Tell me who it is.”

But Fuchsia merely looked down on the ground and maintained an unusual silence.

“Do you know anyone that the cap fits?” persisted Sophy.  Then, with a quick movement, she put the hat aside and, confronting her companion, said, “Surely—­surely, you don’t mean Aunt Flora?”

Fuchsia’s reply was a slow, deliberate nod.

“Oh, Fuchsia, this is too dreadful—­how can you?  Tell me—­why you have such a hideous suspicion?”

“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!