"And how did you learn it?"
"From Valli."
"Oh, from Signor Valli! But you told me he was not to be trusted."
"In some ways not. But I do not doubt what he says on this subject. He has no motive to invent the information. He cares nothing about the matter—except that I think he rather likes La—Mrs. Cheffington than not."
"Is she a foreigner?" asked May, with a little more interest than she had hitherto shown. Her listless way of receiving the news had surprised her friend.
"Yes, an Italian. At least, she is Italian by language, if not by law; for she comes from Trieste. But she is almost Cosmopolitan; for she has travelled about the world a great deal. She is—or was—an opera-singer. Her name in the theatre is Bianca Moretti. She was rather celebrated at one time." Clara paused a moment, and then added, "I hope this news does not grieve you, dear?"
"No," answered May dreamily, "it does not grieve me. If my father is content, why should I grieve? He and I have been parted—in spirit as well as body—for so many years, that his marriage can make but little difference to me."
"I was afraid you might feel——Of course, Captain Cheffington's family will look on it as a dreadful mésalliance."
May was silent for a few minutes. Then she said a very unexpected thing—
"Poor woman! I hope he is good to her!"