us the story of the Prodigal Son in Bengali, which she did at
great length with dramatic gestures; but our attention was somewhat
diverted from her by a small boy who ran in from the street, hot and
dusty, sluiced himself unconcernedly all over at the pump, and raced
out again dripping. It did look so inviting.

When we left the school Mrs. Gardner said she would take us to see
some _purdah nashin_ women--that is, women who never go out with their
faces uncovered, and who never see any men but their own husbands.

I don't quite know what we expected to see--something very Oriental
and luxurious anyhow; marble halls and women with veils and scarlet
satin trousers dotted about on cushions--and the reality was
disappointing. No marble halls, no divans and richly carved tables,
no hookahs and languid odours of rich perfumes, but a room with cheap
modern furniture, china ornaments, and a round table in the middle
of the floor, for all the world like the best parlour of the working
classes. Two women lived there with their husbands and families, and
they came in and looked G. and me all over, fingered our dresses,
examined our hats, and then asked why we weren't married! I could see
they didn't like the look of us at all. They said we were like the
dolls their little girls got at the fete, and produced two glassy-eyed
atrocities with flaxen hair and vivid pink cheeks, and asked if we saw
the resemblance. We didn't. They told Mrs. Gardner--who has been
many years in India, and looks it--that they thought she was much
nicer-looking than we were, her face was all one colour! (They spoke,
of course, in Bengali, but Mrs. Gardner translated.) Poor women! what
a pitifully dull life is theirs! G. was disappointed to hear they
hadn't become Christians. She had an idea that the Missionary had only
to appear with the Gospel story and the deed was done. I'm afraid it
isn't as easy as that by a long way.

Mrs. Gardner read a chapter from the Bible while we were there, and
these women argued with her most intelligently. They are by no means
stupid. Before we left G. sang to them, with no accompaniment but a
cold stare. When she finished they said they preferred Bengali music,
it had more tune. We left, feeling we had been no success.

Having seen a comparatively well-to-do household, Mrs. Gardner said
she would show us a really poor one. We followed her through a network
of lanes more evil-smelling than anything I ever imagined--London