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‘We can none of us judge of the condition of other people,’
said Mrs. Nosnibor in a gravely charitable tone and with a
look towards Zulora.
‘Oh, mamma,’ answered Zulora, pretending to be half
angry but rejoiced at being able to say out what she was al-
ready longing to insinuate; ‘I don’t believe a word of it. It’s
all indigestion. I remember staying in the house with her
for a whole month last summer, and I am sure she never
once touched a drop of wine or spirits. The fact is, Mahaina
is a very weakly girl, and she pretends to get tipsy in order
to win a forbearance from her friends to which she is not
entitled. She is not strong enough for her calisthenic exer-
cises, and she knows she would be made to do them unless
her inability was referred to moral causes.’
Here the younger sister, who was ever sweet and kind,
remarked that she thought Mahaina did tipple occasionally.
‘I also think,’ she added, ‘that she sometimes takes poppy
juice.’
‘Well, then, perhaps she does drink sometimes,’ said Zu-
lora; ‘but she would make us all think that she does it much
oftener in order to hide her weakness.’
And so they went on for half an hour and more, ban-
dying about the question as to how far their late visitor’s
intemperance was real or no. Every now and then they
would join in some charitable commonplace, and would
pretend to be all of one mind that Mahaina was a person
whose bodily health would be excellent if it were not for her
unfortunate inability to refrain from excessive drinking;
but as soon as this appeared to be fairly settled they began

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