The clangour of metal upon metal rose with the sun, and all through the long hot day the beat and the burr filled the courtyards where those two women went about their daily tasks. When evening came it brought Gopâl an unusual display of platters at supper time--an unusual sweetness both in the viands and in Parbutti's voice.
"Lo! 'tis like a wedding feast, wife," he said, well pleased.
She gave an odd little hysterical laugh. "Perhaps 'tis time there was a wedding, O Gopâl!" Then she grew grave. "Thy people say so, and mine also. Even last night _Mai_ Râdha spoke to me of her daughter. And perhaps 'twere better so. Thou wouldst not cease to love me, O Gopâl! because I brought thee fair sons; ay! and a fair wife too."
Her face was turned away; she spoke softly, regretfully, dutifully, as a good Hindu wife should under the circumstances, and her husband could hardly believe his ears. Parbutti--jealous Parbutti--suggesting a wife of her own choice! Here indeed would have been a chance of peace, were it not for Durga. What a fool he had been to be so precipitate! A sudden regard for the wife who was prepared to sacrifice so much to him mingled not unnaturally with a corresponding resentment against the woman whose love was certain to stand in the way of his pleasure. Yet he was too much taken aback for real assent or denial, and murmured something incoherently about there being no need for hurry, no need to bring a strange woman to the house--as yet. Parbutti's conventional decorum gave way before even this faint allusion to realities, and she turned upon him sharply.
"Wherefore no stranger, Gopâl? Sure it must be so, seeing thou wouldst not mock me by thinking of a widow--a childless widow. 'Tis not as if thou didst set store by foolish old ways. 'Tis not as though thou wast old and foolish thyself. Thou canst choose a virgin bride, and thou shalt choose one, else will I not yield thee. For thine own sake, husband, I will not. _Mai_ Râdha's daughter is worthy of thee. Lo! I have seen her, but if thou heedest me not inquire of her secretly. Durga is old and a widow. We want no more childless ones in this house--nor her sons, even if fate were kind; for look you, I hate her--I hate her."