"I remember you very well," she said, "years ago in India. You have not been back there since those days, have you?"
"No," he answered shortly.
Mrs. Munro fluttered to the rescue. "Mrs. Greaves's nephew, Guy Greaves, is in your regiment, you know, George. It was through him, somehow, that you came across Trixie, wasn't it?"
"I believe I owe him that debt," he said, smiling; "and no doubt I shall be expected to remember it when he wants leave out of his turn."
They all laughed rather artificially, and Mrs. Greaves remarked how curious it was that most people who had been in India found themselves linked up in some way or another.
"Your future mother-in-law and I are such very old friends, and now you are going to marry my goddaughter, and there is Guy in your regiment. It all goes round in a circle."
Then she looked at the clock. "Well, I must be going, or I shall miss my train. Trixie, my dear, I hope you will be very happy and that you will try to be a good wife." "Oh, Gommie, don't be so depressing. Do say for a change that you hope George will make a good husband. That is much more to the point. How could I be happy if he should turn out to be a tyrant, and beat and ill-use me? You know, they say it doesn't matter who you marry, because you are sure to find out afterwards that you have married somebody else."
Mrs. Greaves, regarding her with godmotherly affection, as well as with disapproval, thought of the night at the railway station in India, such years ago, when Trixie had laughed and chattered and danced up and down at the window of the compartment, grabbing her toy, while her parents were breaking their hearts in farewell. Then she was only a baby and could not be blamed for her callousness; yet now at nineteen she seemed almost as heartless!
"I am sure," said Mrs. Greaves dryly, "that it will be your own fault if he does beat you, and that you will richly deserve it."
"Help!" cried Trixie.