We went first to see the girls' school--a quaint sight. All the funny
little women with their hair well oiled and plastered down, with iron
bangles on their wrists to show that they were married, wrapped in
their _saris_, so demurely chanting their lessons! When we went in
they all stood up and, touching their foreheads, said in a queer
sing-song drawl, "Salaam, Mees Sahib, salaam!" The teachers were
native Bible-women. The schoolrooms opened on to a court with a well
like a village pump in the middle. One small girl was brought out to
tell 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 fête, and produced two glassy-eyed