a while a maid-servant informed them that they were to go to the inner apartments. The maid, looking at Bhabatosh, smiled mischievously.
The two young men went in, the visitor having the impression that all the servants were laughing secretly. Bhabatosh was taken to a room very well arranged. In the middle a seat had been placed before which stood silver trays containing sweetmeats and fruit. A little further off, another seat had been placed. Complying with the request of his young host, Bhabatosh sat down to partake of the refreshments. At this moment there was a sound of the jingling of anklets outside, and a maid entered, bringing in a girl who, taking the other seat, gazed around her with looks full of curiosity.
Bhabatosh eat of the fruit slowly, casting side glances at the girl. She wore a Bombay sari of a purple colour. Her head was uncovered, her hair dressed with a liberal supply of oil. The girl was blacker than ink, her small eyes sunk in their sockets glanced perpetually around, her forehead was high, the chin scarcely existed, heir front teeth were much too prominent. Bhabatosh thought, this girl would make him a pattern wife. Clearing his throat and summoning up his courage he asked—"What is your name?"
