He looked at the slippers and then at her. "They were so lovely I could not help buying them for you."
He sat down on the floor at her feet, and tried to bring the slippers within her notice.
"Let me put them on your pretty feet," he begged.
She neither replied, nor by the slightest movement betrayed that she was aware of his existence. She was sitting on a chair, like a European. Her knees were crossed, and one foot dangled before him, as if inviting the new slippers.
By a tremendous effort he summoned up courage to slip the Turkish slipper on her foot, over the French shoe, and even then it was too large. It hung suspended for a minute from her unresponsive toe, and fell to the floor.
I laughed more from nervousness than from mirth.
He turned a troubled, inquiring countenance toward me, and then back to his wife.
"Why is she mocking me? Have I done anything ridiculous?"
He appeared more than ever like a frightened little boy. He leaned toward her as if he wished to hide behind her skirt, every movement seeming to beg for protection.
The stony expression left Nashan's face. She no longer ignored his existence. What was fine, womanly, maternal in her character became alive.
