the white bodice and the silver-bordered scarf of
rose pink--but added to her charm. Yet was Gowhar Jan troubled at heart,
for the girl was in her eyes too modest, too retiring, and cared not at
all whether her songs and dances found favour with the rich landholders,
Sikh Sardars and the sons of Babu millionaires, who crowded to Gowhar
Jan's house. "Alas," sighed Gowhar Jan, "she will never be like Chanda
Malika, gay, witty and famous for generations; her education has been
wasted, and her name will die!" But Imtiazan only pouted and answered;
"I care not to throw good saffron before asses!"

[Illustration: Imtiazan.]

Then Fate cast the die. Her Munshi one day brought to the house a Musulman,
dressed in the modern attire of young India, who had acquired such skill in
playing the "Sitar", that he was able straightway and without mistake to
accompany Imtiazan's most difficult songs. Thereafter he came often
to the house and gradually played himself into the affection of the
young girl, who after some hesitation consented to marry him and elope
with him to a distant city. Thus Imtiazan left the house of her girlhood
and fled with her husband to Bombay. Money they had not, where-fore
Imtiazan, not without a pang, sold her necklace of gold beads and
bravely started house-keeping in the one small room they chose as
their home, while he went forth to seek employment worthy of his
degree at the Calcutta University and of his Rohilla ancestry But alas!
work came not to his hands: and as the money slowly dwindled, he grew
morose and irritable and often made her weep silently as she sat stitching
the embroidery designed to provide the daily meal. She knew full well that
vain pride baulked his employment; and after many a struggle she prevailed
upon him to become a letter-writer. "An undergraduate, who has read
Herbert Spencer, Comte and Voltaire," said he, "cannot demean himself to
letter-writing for the public," to which she justly replied that an
education which prevents a man earning his daily bread must be worthless.

So in due course he installed himself with an ill grace upon the footpath
of Bhendi Bazaar with portfolio and inkhorn, writing letters for uneducated
Musulmans, petitions for candidates and English accounts for butlers. And
the more he wrote the more convinced he became that he was sacrificing
himself for a woman who could not realize the measure of his fall. Thus for
a time matters remained--little Imtiazan we