Rai-Khizar-Pál did not come that evening, nor the next day, nor the next. And by the third afternoon Ahalya was secretly very anxious. Nothing ever went unknown for twenty-four hours in the zenana: that place whose inmates had nothing to do all day long but discuss each other; and for two days now nothing had been talked of in the common day-room but the favorite’s fall from favor. The Lord Rajah had been at home from his campaign nearly four days and had seen Ahalya in that time only once! Glory to Krishna! Who would get her place? On the afternoon of the fourth day Ahalya, braving the worst, appeared in the day-room. The chill of humiliation that met her was expected, but none the less hard to endure. Malati, when profoundly saluted, set the example for the room by barely noticing the Ranee. The very slave-girls laughed at her as she passed them; and only Chundoor, the Sudra woman, offered to make room for her. Ahalya, however, had not yet come to passing a whole morning with a person of low caste; nor yet was she to be driven from the day-room because Rai-Khizar-Pál was offended with her for the poppy dance. After her one bow to Malati, who, as oldest wife, was entitled to it, she walked once round the room, leisurely chose out a pile of cushions apart from the general groups, settled herself with inimitable, lazy grace, despatched one eunuch for sweetened rose-water, commanded another to fan her, gave orders to three or four more, and, when she had made herself important enough, caused Neila to bring in a tray of toilet articles and begin to shape and polish her nails. While Neila worked, she lay perfectly still, surveying the company near by in a supercilious manner, and giving her rivals ample opportunity to realize that, try as they would, not one of them could ever approach her in beauty, in grace, or in charm.