d you
have got to go to bed." Her voice was sharp and authoritative. The
reply came in a low murmur of expostulation.

"I'm going to the Pagoda to-night," continued Lily, "but you will be
all right. As soon as you are undressed you shall have your _dose_."

On hearing this promise Mrs. Krauss furled her fan, rose from the sofa
with astonishing alacrity, and followed her ayah as commanded.

Now the question that puzzled Fuchsia was, what was the nature of the
dose? It must have been something agreeable, or Mrs. Krauss would not
have bounded off the sofa and hurried away--and who would rush for a
dose of quinine or even the fashionable petrol? Undoubtedly the dose
was a drug--some enervating and insidious drug. This would amply
account for the lady's lethargy and languor. The crafty Fuchsia threw
out several feelers to her hostess on the subject of "Heidelberg"--she
wondered whether anyone shared her suspicions. Certainly Mrs. Gregory
did not, but sincerely lamented her neighbour's miserable health, and
deplored her obstinacy in remaining season after season in Rangoon.

"It's rather a dull house for poor Sophy," suggested her friend; "when
her aunt has one of her bad attacks she sees no visitors for days. Mr.
Krauss is absent from morning till night--not that I consider his
absence any loss, for I dislike him more than words can express."

"Well, I can't say that I am one of his admirers," admitted Mrs.
Gregory; "but I agree with you that Sophy has some long and lonely
hours; she can come over here whenever she pleases, and she cannot come
too often, for she is a dear girl, and I would be glad to have her
altogether. You know she and I were house-mates up at May Myo, and
when you live with another person in a small bungalow that is your
opportunity to get down to the bed-rock of character."

It was about a week after the elephants had been transported across the
river, and Sophy and Fuchsia were sitting in the latter's bedroom at
the "Barn." Sophy was altering a hat for her companion; she was
remarkably clever in this line, and a surprising quantity of her
friends' millinery had passed through her fingers.

"Mr. Shafto had a narrow squeak this day week," remarked Fuchsia, who
was lounging in a chair, doing nothing. "Did you hear someone say that
he was _pushed_ in?"

"Oh, no! By accident--or on purpose?"

"Whichever you please; the result was the same." Then, after a
considerable pause, she added