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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.
In silence Sophy followed her down to the car and, as she tucked in the knee-sheet, she raised her eyes and asked: "What is this wonderful last word?" "That I think 'Sophy Shafto' would be a nice easy name to say." In another second Fuchsia's car had panted away and nothing remained of her visit but a cloud of red dust.
"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?
No one in Fuchsia's circle received so many visits as Sophy Leigh; she was fond of Sophy, and frequently turned up at "Heidelberg" to tiffin or to tea, although she did not care about the set of people that she met there stout German ladies with somewhat aggressive manners, or second-rate women from the fringe of Society.
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.
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