At three years old little Trixie Munro was a beautiful baby, perfectly shaped, with masses of bright, curling hair, and luminous eyes; she was full of vitality, restless and gay as a sprite. Mrs. Greaves had always declared that Trixie looked as though she ought to be riding, naked, on a butterfly, with a little red cap on her head. She formed a striking contrast to her mother who, pale and tearful, almost in a condition of collapse, was nerving herself with trembling effort for her first parting from her husband, though she hoped he was to follow her on leave in six months' time. It is a very common scene in India, such partings on platforms or on steamer decks. Domestic separation is only a part of the price that is paid for service in the country, but it is a part that is by no means easy to bear, even when faced with submission and courage. Mrs. Greaves's pleasant, freckled face was sad. She had been through such family partings herself, her own two robust little boys were at home, dedicated in the future to the Army and the Navy, and she sympathised with the husband and wife, neither of whom was very stout-hearted. Ellen Munro was her most intimate friend; it was a curious kind of friendship, based chiefly upon the fact that the two were old schoolfellows, and also distant connections. This had drawn them more closely together when they found themselves in the same station. But in character, as well as in looks, they were different--Marion Greaves being a sound and sensible little English memsahib, full of energy and common sense, with curling chestnut hair and a freckled skin that had earned her the good-natured nickname in the station of "The Plover's Egg." She loved riding and tennis and dancing, was fearless and direct. Whereas Ellen Munro was one of those helpless, incapable beings who seem to invite misfortune, and to accept it without a struggle. Her appearance was limp, her nature humble, affectionate, apologetic, and she clung with pathetic devotion to Marion Greaves, the staunchest of friends, who felt for her that species of protective fondness so often accorded to the weak by the strong. As for Mr. Munro, he was a delicate, clever young man, who would have been better at home in a Government office than leading the strenuous life of an Indian civilian. He could not handle a gun, he was never happy in the saddle, physically he soon tired, though his office work could not be beaten. Mrs. Greaves frequently marvelled in secret how such a child as Trixie had ever been born of such parents--Trixie so vigorous, daring, self-willed, giving promise of a passionate, generous nature. She admired and loved her small goddaughter, and her affection for Ellen Munro, though tinged with contempt, was warm and sincere. Therefore she felt this good-bye acutely.