The nurse’s assignment was short-lived; Mrs. Shroff died later that year, and people finally understood that a doctor’s wife was no more immune to grief than other mortals. She died on the same day of the Shahenshahi calendar as her husband. Their prayers were performed consecutively at the same fire-temple by Dustoor Framji. By this time, Dina had learned how to evade the trap of his overfriendly hugs. When he approached, she held out a polite hand and took a step back, and another, and another. Short of pursuing her around the prayer-hall amid the large thuribles of flaming sandalwood, he could only smile foolishly and give up the chase.

After the first month’s prayer ceremonies for Mrs. Shroff were completed, Nusswan decided there was no point in Dina’s matriculating. Her last report card was quite wretched. She would have been kept back were it not for the principal who, loyal to the memory of Dr. Shroff, preferred to see the marks as a temporary aberration.

“Very decent of Miss Lamb to promote you,” said Nusswan. “But the fact remains that your results are hopeless. I’m not going to waste money on school fees for another year.”

“You make me clean and scrub all the time, I cannot study for even one hour a day! What do you expect?”

“Don’t make excuses. A strong young girl, doing a little housework — what’s that got to do with studying? Do you know how fortunate you are? There are thousands of poor children in the city, doing boot-polishing at railway stations, or collecting papers, bottles, plastic — plus going to school at night. And you are complaining? What’s lacking in you is the desire for education. This is it, enough schooling for you.”

Dina was not willing to concede without a struggle. She also hoped that Nusswan’s wife would intervene on her behalf. But Ruby preferred to stay out of the quarrel, so next morning when she was sent to market with a shopping list, Dina ran to her grandfather’s flat.