Toru were exemplary. No work was too mean for them. Excellent players on the piano were they both, and sweet singers with clear contralto voices, which I still fancy I hear at times. Toru had read more, probably also thought more, and the elder sister generally appeared to follow the lead of the younger; so that I have often been asked by strangers which of the two is Miss Dutt. And yet there was no assumption of superiority on the part of Toru. It seemed perfectly natural to Aru to fall in the background in the presence of her sister. The love between them was always perfect.
Not the least remarkable trait of Toru's mind was her wonderful memory. She could repeat almost every piece she translated by heart, and whenever there was a hitch, it was only necessary to repeat a line of the translation to put an end to it, and draw out of her lips the whole original poem in its entireness. I have already said, she read much: she read rapidly too; but she never slurred over a difficulty when she was reading. Dictionaries, lexicons, and encyclopædias of all kinds were consulted until it was solved, and a note taken afterwards; the consequence was that explanations of hard words and phrases imprinted themselves, as it were, in her brain, and whenever we had a dispute about the signification of any expression or sentence in Sanscrit, or French, or German, in seven or eight cases out of ten she would prove to be right. Sometimes I was so sure of my ground, that I would say, 'Well, let us lay a wager.' The wager was ordinarily a rupee. But when the authorities were consulted, she was almost always the winner. It was curious and very pleasant for me to watch her when she lost. First a bright smile, then thin
