"Of course, you have heard this gossip about May's father?" she said.
"Yes. To say the truth, I almost hoped you might speak on this subject; and so I purposely came when I thought May would not be here. I hinted to her something that Valli had said to me; but I saw she knew nothing."
"I have told her. At least I have told her enough to prevent her being taken by surprise."
"I am glad of that. I think you have done very wisely."
"This Signor Valli, now," said Mrs. Dobbs musingly. "I suppose he tells lies sometimes, eh?"
Clara reflected for a moment before she answered. "In one way—yes. That is to say, if he hated you, and saw you give a penny to a beggar, he would impute some nefarious motive for the action, and say so without scruple; but I don't believe he would be likely to invent circumstances."
Then she went on to tell how Miss Polly Piper remembered a dreadful story about some gambling transactions; and how Major Mitton had furbished up his Maltese reminiscences; and how everybody found something to say, and not one good thing among them all.
Jo Weatherhead listened with a kind of dread enjoyment. So much curious gossip could not but be interesting; yet he wished with all his heart, for May's sake, that it were not true.
"I speak openly to you," said Clara; "but I am reticent about all this with other people. Pray believe that."
Mrs. Dobbs did believe it. Clara seemed to have become intimate with them all at once.