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I heard that it was a great success, only it extracted more money than
juice. After a while he came to the conclusion that our attempts at
reviving our industries were not succeeding for want of a bank of our
own. He was, at the time, trying to teach me political economy. This
alone would not have done much harm, but he also took it into his head
to teach his countrymen ideas of thrift, so as to pave the way for a bank;
and then he actually started a small bank. Its high rate of interest, which
made the villagers flock so enthusiastically to put in their money, ended
by swamping the bank altogether.
The old officers of the estate felt troubled and frightened. There was
jubilation in the enemy's camp. Of all the family, only my husband's
grandmother remained unmoved. She would scold me, saying: "Why
are you all plaguing him so? Is it the fate of the estate that is worrying
you? How many times have I seen this estate in the hands of the court
receiver! Are men like women? Men are born spendthrifts and only
know how to waste. Look here, child, count yourself fortunate that your
husband is not wasting himself as well!"
My husband's list of charities was a long one. He would assist to the
bitter end of utter failure anyone who wanted to invent a new loom or
rice-husking machine. But what annoyed me most was the way that
Sandip Babu [9] used to fleece him on the pretext of __Swadeshi__
work. Whenever he wanted to start a newspaper, or travel about
preaching the Cause, or take a change of air by the advice of his doctor,
my husband would unquestioningly supply him with the money. This
was over and above the regular living allowance which Sandip Babu
also received from him. The strangest part of it was that my husband
and Sandip Babu did not agree in their opinions.

As soon as the __Swadeshi__ storm reached my blood, I said to my
husband: "I must burn all my foreign clothes."
"Why burn them?" said he. "You need not wear them as long as you
please."
"As long as I please! Not in this life ..."
"Very well, do not wear them for the rest of your life, then. But why
this bonfire business?"
"Would you thwart me in my resolve?"
"What I want to say is this: Why not try to build up something? You
should not waste even a tenth part of your energies in this destructive
excitement."
"Such excitement will give us the energy to build."
"That is as much as to say, that you cannot light the house unless you
set fire to it."
Then there came another trouble. When Miss Gilby first came to our
house there was a great flutter, which afterwards calmed down when
they got used to her. Now the whole thing was stirred up afresh. I had
never bothered myself before as to whether Miss Gilby was European
or Indian, but I began to do so now. I said to my husband: "We must
get rid of Miss Gilby."
He kept silent.
I talked to him wildly, and he went away sad at heart.
After a fit of weeping, I felt in a more reasonable mood when we met at
night. "I cannot," my husband said, "look upon Miss Gilby through a
mist of abstraction, just because she is English. Cannot you get over the
barrier of her name after such a long acquaintance? Cannot you realize
that she loves you?"
I felt a little ashamed and replied with some sharpness: "Let her remain.
I am not over anxious to send her away." And Miss Gilby remained.
But one day I was told that she had been insulted by a young fellow on
her way to church. This was a boy whom we were supporting. My
husband turned him out of the house. There was not a single soul, that
day, who could forgive my husband for that act--not even I. This time
Miss Gilby left of her own accord. She shed tears when she came to say
good-bye, but my mood would not melt. To slander the poor boy
so--and such a fine boy, too, who would forget his daily bath and food
in his enthusiasm for __Swadeshi__.

My husband escorted Miss Gilby to the railway station in his own
carriage. I was sure he was going too far. When exaggerated accounts
of the incident gave rise to a public scandal, which found its way to the
newspapers, I felt he had been rightly served.
I had often become anxious at my husband's doings, but had never
before been ashamed; yet now I had to blush for him! I did not know
exactly,