“Why do you say this to me?” she asked in a low voice.

“FitzGerald has means of finding out curious facts, and sometimes he tumbles into a thing by accident; he is mad keen to scotch this cocaine business, and incidentally discovered that one of Ah Shee’s best customers was—­you know who.  She has been procuring the stuff for the last three years.  I believe you have only recently found out the hideous fact, and this accounts for what anyone can see with half an eye—­your look of care and anxiety.  I am well aware that I have undertaken a dangerous mission in coming here to tell you this.  Possibly you may never speak to me again; but I take the risk, because I do want so very, very badly to be of some use and to stand by you.”

There was nothing for it but to accept the situation, and at last she said: 

“The only way in which you can help me is by keeping silent.”

“How long have you known?”

“About six weeks.”

“So now I understand why we see you so seldom at tennis or the paper-chases.”

“Yes; and now that you do understand, perhaps you will help me and put people off when they ask tiresome questions.”  She spoke with a catch in her voice.  “I scarcely ever leave my aunt.  I read and talk and play the piano, and do my best to keep her amused; I am very fond of Aunt Flora.”

“You must be!” he exclaimed sharply.

“But, indeed, she is not so much to blame as you suppose.  Think of her loneliness and illness!  Years of this relaxing climate and intense depression tempted her to seek relief, and once she had touched the drug it gripped her like a vice and made her a prisoner.”

“Whom you are struggling to release?  Does Herr Krauss know?”

“No; he has no suspicion.  No more had I till recently.  Lily, the ayah, Mr. FitzGerald, you and I, are all that are in the secret.”

“It is much too heavy a load for your shoulders.  Won’t you tell Mrs. Gregory?  She is so practical and so safe, and full of clever expedients and energy.”

“No, I shall not open my lips; how could I?  Mrs. Gregory is my loyal and kind friend; but once I began to take people into my confidence, I could never tell where it would end; soon it might be all over Rangoon that my aunt takes drugs.  As it is I am making a little headway; we have diminished the quantity, and I have great hopes that the craving is less.  Of course, I am obliged always to be on guard; that is why I am so rarely able to leave home.  Herr Krauss talks of retiring in four months, and if I can only keep Aunt Flora safe until then, the day of our departure means the day of her escape.  And now, please, let us talk of something more cheerful.  I suppose you have heard about your friend, Mr. FitzGerald, and Miss Bliss?” And she threw him a charming confidential smile.

“Oh yes, rather!  FitzGerald was in the most awful funk and talked of writing his proposal, but I choked him off, and told him that it was a cowardly way of putting his fate to the touch—­the telephone would have been better—­and that he must face the music like a man.”