thought of that number of The Light of Bengal, especially of that article of mine, "The Ideal Woman's Life." Had I not written it for the benefit of the new women of the class of Nirmala? I must know how that article had affected her views, so I decided to go.
When I arrived, there was no one in the drawing-room. But presently Nirmala came, and, saluting me with a smile, said—"I am so glad to see you. We had given up all hope of your coming. Father, mother, and Satish Babu are all gone to see the garden. Satish Babu said you would not come to-day; you were too busy. Some new writing, I expect?"
"Yes—no, I had work that I thought"—
"I understand. May I ask, Manmatha Babu, how many hours a day you give to The Light of Bengal?"
"Nearly all my time. I exist for its sake."
"That must be delicious. I wish I could devote myself to literature, day and night, in that way. But is it not very rash to confess that to you?"
"Why so?"
"From what you say in that article of yours, 'The Ideal woman's Life,' it seems that you think that home is the woman's proper sphere; that, to forget herself entirely in the service of others in the domestic circle, is woman's true existence."
