CHAPTER IV
At ten o'clock next morning Satish came in. When I asked how he could tear himself away from Nirmala, he said—"She is so taken up with that wretched paper of yours, The Mirror of Bengal—or The Light of Bengal, whatever you call it, you gave her, that I came away in a rage."
I was delighted. Was Nirmala's love for literature so great? I thought if Nirmala wrote herself, I would not mind printing the article in The Light of Bengal, after necessary corrections.
Satish had much to relate about her. The happiness of these two young lovers renewed the youth in my mind also. Satish said—"Now I am going. I just looked in to see if the rooms suited you. We shall meet at tea time. You are coming, I hope?"
"At tea time? No; not to-day. Mrs. Sen did not invite me."
"Of course she did; I heard her."
"In what way? She only said, 'If you come."
"Exactly; that was an invitation. Must one present oneself at your door with the garment round one's neck, as invitations are prescribed in the Shastras? What an old fogey you are."
