her at the station, wearing an English cape and shoes, I did not like her appearance. Now I saw her in red velvet shoes of Indian make, an orange-coloured sari draped in the new fashion, her plentiful hair gathered into a knot, and adorned with a hill rose of a yellow colour. Nirmala looked very handsome indeed.
At first I did not see Satish and resolved, when I met him alone, to let off a few jokes about the worshipful red feet of his divinity.[1] He soon after came in. When tea was over, and some time had been spent in conversation, we set out in company for a walk.
When I took my leave, Mrs. Sen said—"Manmatha Babu, if you will join us again at tea to-morrow, we can afterwards go out for a walk together."
It occurred to me that now was the time clearly to decline the invitation. Should I give the true reason for my objection thereto? Should I not take this opportunity to bring home to her the deep sociological truth underlying the idea? But again I thought—"What is it for an invitation? 'If you come.' Could that be called an invitation?"
Disturbed with this inward debate, I could not frame any answer, and on their part they were giving the farewell salute.
- ↑ All the Hindu goddesses have red feet.
