The effrontery of this greeting--for the voice was Mabella's--almost took away Rex's presence of mind and power of speech. He soon recovered them, however, and turning sharply, faced her. "Yes, Miss Forsyth," he said, quickly, "it is I. If you have anything to say to me, say it; if not, be so good as to walk on. Unfortunately, there are not two roads to the house from here." She laughed; there was not a trace of nervousness in her laugh. "You are no diplomatist, Major Winchester. Here you are showing your colours to the enemy at once, before you have really any to show." "I have not the slightest objection to your knowing what I was thinking about," he said. "I am only considering whether I shall expose you, or whether, for the sake of others, I must leave you to the punishment which is sure to come sooner or later, even if I have no hand in bringing it upon you." "Goody-goody talk runs off me like water off a duck's back, I warn you," she said. "Keep to common-sense, if you please. I shall not pretend I don't know what you mean; I do perfectly, and I intend to treat you with entire candour. What I would ask you is this: _how_ can you `expose me'--to use your courteous phrase--without proof, reliable and certain, that I am guilty? Such proof you know you have not got. All you can say is that your brother saw me standing at the table whereon lay the two letters in question. Is it _likely_ that people would believe that I, a lady born and bred, would have done such an unheard-of thing as to open them, read them, and change their envelopes? And when the circumstances are explained further, of your agitation and hurry that morning, _do_ you think you would gain much by your attempt at showing me up?" He was silent for a moment. Then, "Yes," he said, "I believe my story would be accepted. There is not only this last distinct act; there is the whole string of misleading remarks and suggestions on your part, and,"--he hesitated to name her--"Trixie's, which show the plot into which, Heaven knows why, you inveigled that misguided girl as a fellow-conspirator." "Ah, Trixie," she said. "I will revert to her in a moment, though, _en passant_, I may tell you there was not much `inveigling' required on my part. Your cousin Beatrix _hates_ you, Major Winchester, with a very pretty hatred;" and she laughed gently, delighted to see that he started a little. If "hate" was not a pleasant word on Imogen's childish lips, it did not gain when pronounced by Mabella.