"Oh, of course, they all baa' one after the other! You have no idea, granny, what foolish back-biting talk goes on among the people whom Aunt Pauline calls 'society.' I've seen them roll a morsel of gossip over and over, while it kept growing all the time like a snow-ball--or a mud-ball. And no doubt many people whom Aunt Pauline doesn't call 'society' are as bad. A sheep is a sheep, whichever side of the hedge it is on," said this young censor with fine scorn. Mrs. Dobbs in her heart did not put implicit faith in the stories which reached her. The young and the old--when they are sound-hearted--are both prone to disbelieve slander--the young from innocence, the old from experience; for there is no lesson more surely taught by life than the evil lightness with which evil is attributed. But with regard to these particular stories, unwelcome corroboration was given to Mrs. Dobbs by Clara Bertram. Clara carried out her proposal of going to sing at Jessamine Cottage. She went there one afternoon when May was absent at the Hadlows', and introduced herself. There were only Mrs. Dobbs and Mr. Weatherhead to listen to her; but she sat down at the old square piano--feebly tinkling now, but tinkling always in tune, like the conscientious ghost of a defunct instrument--and sang her best. Her audience, though limited, was highly appreciative; and she soon found that their applause was not given ignorantly. Apart from the charm of her singing, Clara won their sympathies by her kindly, unaffected simplicity. She inspired trustfulness. One must have been blindly false one's self to doubt her truth. Mrs. Dobbs was moved to question her a little about Valli. "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.