"Keep her always in view; for Heaven's sake don't let her get confidential with any one else, or it will all be spoilt!" were Mab's instructions to Trixie. "She's not confidential with _me_; she's as dull as ditch-water. I'm getting sick of your secret plots and plans that come to nothing," grumbled Beatrix. There came a morning, however, when Mabella altered her commands for the day. "Trixie," she said, in a low voice, "_he_--your cousin--is returning this afternoon. His luggage is to be fetched, and he himself is going to walk up from the station. He comes by the 2:15 express. No one is to be told; but I trust to you to let it out to Imogen." Beatrix faced round upon her. "How do _you_ know, if no one is to be told?" she asked sharply. Mabella smiled, a peculiar smile. "I have ways and means," she said. "He wrote it to Florence, and I was sitting beside her at breakfast. I knew he _would_ be writing to her when he fixed his return." Trixie flamed up; her patience had been over-taxed. "You mean, despicable--I don't know what to call you," she said. "I've a great mind to throw it all up, and tell what you're capable of." "As you please," returned Mabella, coolly. "I'm getting rather sick of it myself. But remember, you can't tell on me without telling on yourself. It wouldn't, after all, matter so very much to me, only a house the less to visit at; but it would be uncommonly unpleasant for _you_. Your father would _never_ forgive you for playing tricks on his guests, and you couldn't pack up and go off comfortably enough, as I could." Trixie looked blacker and blacker; there was truth in Mabella's words. "I _haven't_ played tricks, if it comes to that," she said. "I've only connived, to a certain extent, at what you're doing; and what you're after just now I don't understand in the least." "Wait a bit and you'll see," said Miss Forsyth. "We may as well have _some_ fun for our pains. Be sensible, Trixie. After all, no one will be any the worse for it in the end, and it will be very wholesome for some people to be brought down a peg or two." "What do you want me to do?" asked Trixie, sulkily. "Find ways and means to confide to Imogen that Rex Winchester is coming to-day, and that he will be walking up alone from the station at a certain hour. He wanted Florence to meet him, but she can't. She had promised to go to Catborough to luncheon. You might insinuate that Florence wants to keep him all to herself, which is true. She never tells any one anything. I often wonder you and Alicia stand it. Ten to one Imogen will jump at the chance of meeting him unobserved. She hates her mother's silly meddling, I can see." "And what will happen then?" demanded Trixie.