A sudden calm came over the hitherto noisy platform; passengers had at last been safely packed into the train, and arrivals had finally pushed and yelled themselves out of the station. One or two fruit and sweetmeat sellers, and a water-carrier, still wandered up and down with droning cries; and now the Munros got into the compartment together for a last embrace. Mrs. Greaves attracted Trixie to the window by holding up a toy she had brought with her for the purpose--that the child should not interrupt the parting. And while Trixie was laughing and chattering, and grabbing at her godmother's gift, her father kissed her swiftly; then, stepping white and silent from the carriage, he shut the door, and the train moved out of the station. * * * * * It was very soon after Mrs. Munro had sailed for England that Rafella Coventry arrived in the station as a bride. Mrs. Greaves saw her for the first time one afternoon seated a little apart, looking rather forlorn, watching her husband play tennis in the public gardens. The turf was emerald green, the blue, far-away sky was just flecked with some little white clouds that foretold the showers of winter; the air was crisp and exhilarating, and everyone save Mrs. Coventry was either playing a game, or awaiting their turns for tennis and badminton courts. Rafella was suffering from a cold in her head, and her nose and eyes were inflamed. Deluded by the perpetual sunshine she had worn summer garments to start with, ignoring her husband's advice to the contrary; but now she sat wrapped in a cape that, though useful and warm, was unbecoming both in colour and style. She felt shy and depressed, and antagonistic towards this concourse of people, who all seemed to know one another so well--who belonged to a world that was completely outside her experience. Mrs. Greaves asked who she was; and a malapert subaltern told her. "That's the bride, Captain Coventry's new acquisition. Just the sort of raw rustic he would have chosen, with his peculiar ideas of what a woman should be. They say he discovered her in some prehistoric hamlet at home, and that she'd never seen a man till she met him, or a train till she started on her honeymoon. She looks like it. No fear of _her_ kicking over the traces." "You never know," laughed Mrs. Greaves. "And if you can forget her cape and her hat, and her obvious cold, you will observe that she is remarkably pretty, so you'd better reserve your judgment." She had noted the beauty of the girl's eyes and complexion despite their present afflicted condition, and she guessed at the wealth of hair concealed by the unfashionable hat. "An angel in asses' clothing--no, that's not quite right. What is the text exactly?" "Oh! go and miss balls at tennis, and don't talk nonsense," advised Mrs. Greaves.