III
On his way back home Bhabatosh reviewed the events of the afternoon. His way led him through the village where numbers of girls were returning to their homes bearing pots filled with water. He considered their faces rather carefully as they passed. There were pretty ones among them and many plain faces, but not one of them was so ugly as Jagadamba.
The carriage approached the fields, and now his mind was filled with pride in his victory over himself. Yet he felt his chosen bride need not have been quite so ugly. But since his choice was made, what was the use of such reflections? At this point he reached home. His mother said—"Well, do you approve of the maiden?"
"Yes mother, I do."
"Then shall I settle the matter?"
"Please."
"Shall it be early in February?"
"It may as well,"—and Bhabatosh betook himself elsewhere. The mother observed that the youth's mind was somewhat heavy. She imagined that though pleased at his choice, he was rather ashamed to have made it after so many vows that he would not marry a beauty.
