be going up and down the stairs as I used to. Will you see to Mahin's meals and everything, my child? He's been looked after all his life, and can't do without it. Don't you see how he's moping since his wife left? What a wife to be sure! How could she desert him like this!"
Binodini with face averted fumbled with the bed-clothes.
"Well child, what's troubling you? There's nothing to hesitate about. Whatever people may say, you're quite one of us."
"Wouldn't it be better not to—?" murmured Binodini.
"All right then, don't!" snapped Rajlakshmi. "I'll get along as best as I can by myself," with which she essayed to mount the stairs to do up Mahendra's room.
"Oh stop, please!" cried Binodini in a flutter. "I'm going. Forgive me if I've seemed disobedient. I'll do exactly as you wish."
Rajlakshmi had a supreme contempt for society gossip. Since her husband's death her social circle had been mostly limited to Mahendra and herself. Binodini's hint of Mahendra's incurring social censure had annoyed her. Hadn't she known Mahendra since his infancy? Where could you find such another immaculate youth? To think of anybody daring to speak ill of him! Wouldn't the tongue that uttered such a foul calumny wither and drop off!
That evening when Mahendra came home from college, the state of his room took him by surprise. The perfume of incense greeted him as soon as he entered. His mosquito-curtain had acquired a pink silk flounce. The bed on the floor was spotless and trim, and the usual bolster had been replaced by square cushions of the English pattern, the embroidery on which represented days of Binodini's toil. "For whom are you working these?" Asha had often asked her, and had received the bantering reply: "For my funeral pyre; death is the only sweetheart I'll ever have."
Mahendra's portrait on the wall had been adorned with little coloured bows at the corners, and under it a small table had been placed against the wall with a vase of flowers upon it,—as if it were an offering from some unknown worshipper. Altogether the room wore a changed aspect. The bedstead had been slightly shifted from it former position, and the clothes-horse draped to form a screen between it and the floor-bed, dividing the room into two parts for the day and night. The little cabinet in which Asha used to keep her trinkets had red Turkey-cloth fastened inside its glazed door, so that its contents could no longer be seen. The old associations had been completely overlaid by the touch of a new hand.
As the tired Mahendra threw himself on the floor-bed and leaned back on the cushions he found them scented with the pollen of nageswar flowers. As he closed his eyes it seemed to him to be the fragrance of the champak[1] fingers which had worked the cushions.
Then the maid appeared with pared fruits on a silver salver, and a crystal goblet of iced pineapple sherbet. This was also a new departure, and bore witness to the manipulation of skilful hands. Each one of Mahendra's senses was assailed by this insidious novelty.
As Mahendra finished his repast with great relish, Binodini entered with pan and spices, and said with a smile: "Forgive me, friend Mahin, if I've not been able to look after you these last few days; you know I've got to attend to all the household work. Whatever you. may do, swear for my sake not to tell my Eyesore that I've been neglecting you!" She then pushed the pan-box towards him. Even the pan was not the same, with its aroma of screw-pine blossoms.
Mahendra.—"It's glorious to have intervals of neglect like this!"
Binodini—"Why, may I ask?"
Mahendra.—"One can make a grievance of it, and get it paid back with compound interest."
Binodini.—"And how much interest do I still owe you, Mr. Banker?"
Mahendra.—"As you weren't here while I was eating, you must prolong your stay after the meal, and even then some debt will be left over!"
"What a shark," laughed Binodini. "Once in your clutches there's no getting out, I see."
"My accounting may be strict," rejoined Mahendra, "but what have I realised in cash?"
"What is there to realise?" sighed
- ↑ The Champak bud resembles in shape a delicate finger, and the complexion most esteemed in Bengal is compared to its colour.
