"Of course, I know you are not content," said Nani, "for it is all so strange now, but you are young, and you will be gay enough yet. Fill your life with good deeds, and that will make you happy. Once upon a time I, too, was miserable; now, I am so busy with other folks' troubles, I have no time to think of my own; when I was young, I was married to Lopez, the money-lender. I was very pretty. Oh, you will laugh, but it was true! I had yards of red hair like Dominga, and good eyes. Then when I grew fat and ugly, Lopez no longer cared for me; all his thought was of money--money--money--always. He used to lend to the young officers, and the Zemindars, and the bazaar people. But he was never satisfied with what he got--and he got much--he was always reaching--reaching--reaching after more. Rosa, your mother, would be like him, if she had the rupees; oh, she is so fond of accounts and business. Lily, my other girl, was quite different--but she is dead. Ah! that was my great sorrow. Sometimes, when I looked at you lying there, so seek, with your black hair, thin hands, and white face, I could have thought it was my own poor Lily. I think that is why I talk to you, and--tell you things. Lily was very soft and gentle, not clever and quick like your mother, who always knows what she wants--and _will_ get it. She says I am too friendly with native people, and the ayah, but, why not? They are all flesh and blood, and some of them are _so_ good." "Yes," assented her listener, languidly, "are they?" "Now, there is the ayah, for instance, Zorah; she had a husband, and slaved hard for him, and had beautiful gold jewels, and brass cooking pots, and money, for she was always working, working, working. Then she went to England, with a lady, for two or three months, and when she came back--now, what do you think? That good-for-nothing man had run away with all her things, and married another wife! and so she had to begin life over again. She is old now, and very poor indeed; all she had in the world was a silver chain. A niece of hers was ill-treated by her husband's family--because she had no children, so they beat her, and starved her--and made her a slave. And Zorah sold her silver chain, and went and brought her here from a long way off, a journey costing twenty rupees, and keeps her; and all she has is five rupees a month--now, would you or I do that?" "I expect _you_ would, grandmother."