My idea had been to make my appearance after they had sat down to
dinner. In the bustle of looking after the serving the first
awkwardness would have passed off. But dinner was not ready in
time, and it was getting late. Meanwhile my husband had sent for
me to introduce the guest.

I was feeling horribly shy about looking Sandip Babu in the face.
However, I managed to recover myself enough to say: "I am so
sorry dinner is getting late."

He boldly came and sat right beside me as he replied: "I get a
dinner of some kind every day, but the Goddess of Plenty keeps
behind the scenes. Now that the goddess herself has appeared, it
matters little if the dinner lags behind."

He was just as emphatic in his manners as he was in his public
speaking. He had no hesitation and seemed to be accustomed to
occupy, unchallenged, his chosen seat. He claimed the right to
intimacy so confidently, that the blame would seem to belong to
those who should dispute it.

I was in terror lest Sandip Babu should take me for a shrinking,
old-fashioned bundle of inanity. But, for the life of me, I
could not sparkle in repartees such as might charm or dazzle him.
What could have possessed me, I angrily wondered, to appear
before him in such an absurd way?

I was about to retire when dinner was over, but Sandip Babu, as
bold as ever, placed himself in my way.