"Perhaps you think I'm not telling you the truth."
"It's no affair of mine," returned Dee easily.
"Well, I'm not," continued the elder sister. "Come into the conservatory." She led the way across the living room, dragging her feet a little as she walked. "Now, if you want to know," she continued defiantly, "I'll tell you. I've been in Fred Browning's rooms."
"That's nice!" observed Dee. "What's the idea?"
"I had to go somewhere. I couldn't come home."
"Drunk?" Dee shot out the monosyllable with a sharpness which made the other wince. But she answered promptly:
"I was that. And I wasn't the only one. That Bacardi rum is hell."
"Who was with you?"
"Nobody."