70
THE WRECK
to look at Ramesh and kept her eyes fixed on the open door.
Kamala's appearance was a surprise to him; he seemed to be contemplating a total stranger. In these few months there had been an astounding change in her. She had developed like a young plant. Gone was the bloom of health that had glowed about the unformed limbs of the rustic maid. Her face had lost its youthful roundness, and the features had become more pronounced and had gained distinction. The dark sleekness of her cheeks had given place to a deli- cate pallor, and her gait and movements were free and unconstrained.
After her entry she stood erect with head half- averted in front of the open window, and the light of the autumn afternoon fell on her face. Her head was bare, her braided tresses tied with a red ribbon hung down her back, and her merino robe of a saffron tint was fastened tightly round her half-developed body.
Ramesh gazed at her for some moments in silence.
Kamala's beauty had been only a vague memory to him during the past few months. Now with its added lustre it startled him profoundly and found him un- prepared to resist her charm.
"Sit down, Kamala," he bade her. Kamala sat down without a word.
"How's school?" he went on.
"All right," she answered curtly.
Ramesh was racking his brains for something else to say when an idea occurred to him.
"I don't suppose," he said, **you have had anything to eat for some time. There's food ready for you here. Shall I tell them to bring it in?"
"No, thank you," said Kamala. "I had something before I started."
"Won't you eat anything at all?" asked Ramesh;
