"I know there are some cruel things said," she risked at last, "but, of course, I try not to hear them, and—so far—people have been careful not to speak of them too freely to me."
Mrs. Prynne colored a little. "I didn't intend to repeat it," she said sharply, "but you know she claims to get all she tells from that French girl. It seems Mrs. Astry dismissed her, and Mrs. Billop isn't in the least ashamed to repeat servants' chatter."
"Well, we all know what a discharged servant will do, and, unfortunately, there are always people who listen to them; it's the most odious form of gossip too."
"Of course it is, but people do listen—once it's started, and I've heard it everywhere."
"Doesn't one always hear horrid things floating about, when people are idle?" Pamela was longing to ask her all about it, to be sure that it was no worse than she feared, but she had taken high ground and was trying gallantly to maintain it.
"Yes, when Mrs. Billop is about."
"To tell you the truth I never believe half she says!"
"You're on the safe side," said Dr. Macclesfield, who had entered the room unperceived. "No, I won't take tea, Pamela, I detest that stuff of yours; it's too costly. Rachel's the only one who can make tea to suit me. But you can give me some of that rum that you spoon in at the last moment, to give a nip, eh? That's enough, now a macaroon. You were talking scandal; I caught you at it! I wish you women had necks like cranes; you remember the old monk who said he wished men had 'em, so their speech, coming up through the many joints of a crane's neck, might leave malice and foolishness behind, in the filtration plant, so to speak."
"Can't you perform an operation on Sidney Billop," Pamela asked maliciously, "and graft a crane's neck on to him?"
The doctor giggled. "Pamela, I'm the worst gossip in the District, and Sidney's a sort of cousin of yours, isn't he?"