effort, the composition was that of a practised writer. The diction was vigorous, but restrained. Again, it was not written by Nirmala. One has not been an editor so long for nothing. I was not even at a loss to name the writer. It was by Gouri Kanta Ray. I had never met him, but had heard that he lived out towards Dacca. I had read many of his writings. He was one of the best writers of the younger generation, yet there were many defects in his writing. These were due to his youth, and would be rectified by time.
The next day I gave a good report of it to Nirmala. In one or two places I pointed out faults, but accorded much praise. "Is the writer very young?"—I asked.
"Yes; a little older than I am."
"He is a great friend of yours, I think?"
"It is so."
I did not like this. Why should a "great friendship" exist between a young woman and a young man?
I asked—"Can we have one or two of his writings?"
"Why? Do you find them very tempting?"
"I confess I do."
"Well, I will look out one or two. But not this one."
"Have you many of his writings by you?"
