"No," said the widow, rising and recovering her color and nerve, "don't go yet, Gerald. I know that you did not mean any harm, and after all, as Signor Venosta has nothing to do with the death, it matters very little. Had I known when I saw the moneylender what I know now I should never have taken that coral hand. But I have given it back to Signor Venosta, and he will not mention the subject again. Sit down and have another cup of tea."
"Do," urged Mrs. Berch, the light coming into her cold eyes. "I think you owe it to Madge to remove the impression of this horror. The whole thing is too fantastical, with its symbols and secret societies and murders in lonely houses. We live in the twentieth century, and these things belong to fiction."
"The last does not," replied Haskins dryly: "Bellaria was certainly murdered at the Pixy's House."
"And by that crazy girl," insisted Mrs. Berch. "I hope she will be caught and shut up in an asylum. It is not safe to let such a creature go at large."
Haskins defended Mavis no longer, as he was afraid that the two women, both keen-eyed and clever, might guess his secret knowledge of the girl's whereabouts. "Let us change the subject," he said, taking a fresh cup of tea from Mrs. Crosbie's hand. "I hope you enjoyed yourselves at Bognor?"
"Oh, very much indeed," said the widow brightly, "and we were quite sorry to return to London. But we are going abroad soon, to Switzerland."
Gerald winced. Switzerland was a wide place: yet if Mrs. Berch and her daughter went there, it was not impossible but what they might come across the honeymooning path of Mr. and Mrs. Macandrew. In that event Major Rebb would certainly learn that Charity was married, and therefore guess that Mavis was with Mrs. Pelham Odin. However, he showed no signs of his fears, but privately resolved to write to Tod. "When are you going, Mrs. Crosbie?"
"I can't say exactly," she answered carelessly, "it all depends on Major Rebb. He is coming with mother and myself, but has some business to arrange before he can leave London. What have you been doing with yourself lately, Gerald? We, as you know, have been at Bognor."
"Writing as usual." And Haskins plunged into an account of his new book, for the sake of talking on a safe subject. Yet even as he spoke, his brain was wondering why the widow lied about Bognor. According to Tod's clerk the two ladies had not been near that watering-place: but Mrs. Crosbie spoke as having just returned from that very town. Probably, since both were hard up--Mrs. Crosbie in talking of the moneylender had confessed as much--they had been ruralizing in some quiet and cheap part of the country.
For the next twenty minutes the conversation was of a light and somewhat frivolous order, and in so congenial an atmosphere the widow expanded like a flower. Even Mrs. Berch grew more human, and less like a stone image. It was quite like old days, when Gerald's mother had sat knitting and listening with a smile on her well-remembered face. Mrs. Crosbie evidently recalled the past, for when Gerald finally took his departure she accompanied him to the door.