himself with Bengali literature, I asked myself, "What can have happened?"
Satish, looking at me, began to smile.
"What is it?"—I asked.
I am going to tell you a secret about myself. I have only been waiting to do so until that review should appear in your paper."
Supremely astonished, I said—"A review of Nandarani! What connexion is there between that and any secret about yourself?"
“A very close connexion. I am Gouri Kanta Ray."
It was as if I had fallen from the skies.
“You!!!"
"Yes—I—don't you see? Sati means Gouri, and ish means Kanta."
I repeated "You!" and while speaking I rang the bell to call a servant. When he came, I bade him bring a telegraph form. Satish told me that when he was in England he used to sit in the British Museum reading all the good Bengali works with great attention. Then he studied and practised original composition. He was waiting to tell me this until a review of his first long novel should appear in The Light of Bengal, lest, knowing it beforehand, I should be biassed by friendship in reviewing the work.
