n a new atmosphere. Labanya's husband,
Babu Nilratan, a leader of the bar, was reproached by many because
he refused to pay his respects to European officials. To all such
reproaches Nilratan would reply: "No, thank you,--if they are not polite
enough to return my call, then the politeness I offer them is a loss
that can never be made up for. The sands of the desert may be very white
and shiny, but I would much rather sow my seeds in black soil, where I
can expect a return."

And Nabendu began to adopt similar ideas, all regardless of the future.
His chance of Rai Bahadurship throve on the soil carefully prepared by
his late father and also by himself in days gone by, nor was any fresh
watering required. Had he not at great expense laid out a splendid
race-course in a town, which was a fashionable resort of Europeans?

When the time of Congress drew near, Nilratan received a request from
head-quarters to collect subscriptions. Nabendu, free from anxiety,
was merrily engaged in a game of cards with his sister-in-law, when
Nilratan Babu came upon him with a subscription-book in his hand, and
said: "Your signature, please."

From old habit Nabendu looked horrified. Labanya, assuming an air of
great concern and anxiety, said: "Never do that. It would ruin your
racecourse beyond repair."

Nabendu blurted out: "Do you suppose I pass sleepless nights through
fear of that?"

"We won't publish your name in the papers," said Nilratan reassuringly.

Labanya, looking grave and anxious, said: "Still, it wouldn't be safe.
Things spread so, from mouth to mouth--"

Nabendu replied with vehemence: "My name wouldn't suffer by appearing
in the newspapers." So saying, he snatched the subscription list from
Nilratan's hand, and signed away a thousand rupees. Secretly he hoped
that the papers would not publish the news.

Labanya struck her forehead with her palm and gasped out: "What--have
you--done?"

"Nothing wrong," said Nabendu boastfully.

"But--but--," drawled Labanya, "the Guard sahib of Sealdah Station,
the shop-assistant at Whiteaway's, the syce-sahib of Hart Bros.--these
gentlemen might be angry with you, and decline to come to your Poojah
dinner to drink your champagne, you know. Just think, they mightn't pat
you on the back, when you meet them again!"

"It wouldn't break my heart," Nabendu snapped out.

A few days passed. One morning Nabendu was sipping his tea, and glancing
at a newspaper. Suddenly a letter signed