Bearing these things in mind, Haskins descended into the street to call a hansom, and proceeded to visit Mrs. Crosbie. She dwelt along with her mother in a palatial block of mansions, known as Ladysmith Court, and which had been erected by a financier of South African fame. The mansions were situated near Marylebone Road, and although the address was not ultra-fashionable the rents were high. When Gerald paid his cab at the foot of the marble steps, and surveyed the huge pile of redbrick buildings he reflected that Tod must be wrong about the widow's financial position. Only a rich woman could afford to live here, and there could be no money-grubbing idea in connection with the Rebb marriage, even though the Major had six thousand a year. Nevertheless it was strange that Mrs. Crosbie should marry Rebb, when he was so much disliked by Mrs. Berch, of whom her daughter was extraordinarily fond. Mrs. Crosbie's flat was on the second floor, and Gerald was shown into a small but smart drawing-room by a neat maid servant. It was a true woman's room, luxuriously furnished, prettily decorated, and filled with all manner of useless knick-knacks and fancy china, and silver-framed photographs, and Japanese draperies, and finally with masses of flowers in many-hued vases. The scent of the blossoms and the perfume of a burning pastille made the atmosphere fragrant, but somewhat heavy, in spite of the rose-curtained French windows which opened on to a tiny balcony. Near one of the windows Mrs. Crosbie was seated, looking somewhat pale and disturbed, and facing her was an overdressed man, with white hair and moustache, who looked like a foreigner. "How are you, Gerald?" asked Mrs. Crosbie, when Haskins was announced, and addressing him by his Christian name according to custom. "I have not seen you for ages." She shook hands and looked at him. "How brown you are, my dear boy. Allow me to introduce you two men. Signor Venosta, Mr. Haskins. Mr. Haskins, Signor Venosta, who has been amusing me. Do sit down. Tea will be in presently." "Alas, madam, but I must depart," said Signor Venosta, who was a stout, oily-looking Italian of the tenor type, dressed in too gaudy a style to satisfy Gerald's fastidious taste. "I have been with you one hour." "You should add that it has seemed like one minute," said Mrs. Crosbie, with a pretty little laugh, and waving a fan, for the heat was stifling. "Well, if you must go, you must!" She rose, and walked with her visitor to the door, glancing over her shoulder meanwhile. "Excuse me, Gerald, I shall return soon." And she left the room with the Italian.