Then she passed on, apparently with no compunctions about having defrauded Mrs. Arnold of legitimate information about the baby. But that lady hurried across the street to tell Mrs. Flitch something. “It is not her own child, my dear; I am sure of that,” she said, after reporting what Helen had done. “Well, it could be,” Mrs. Flitch insisted. “But it isn’t. I don’t think she knows exactly how old the child is. And a real mother, you know, can feel when her baby is teething.” Mrs. Flitch nodded emphatically, held her note of silence a moment, then added: “If it isn’t her own, there is no telling what kind of baby it is, nor how it will turn out.” “Well, it is turning out happily for that poor girl anyway. She looks years younger, and happy,” Mrs. Arnold replied. “If Mr. Flitch deserted me, I couldn’t be happy. I’d never hold up my head again.” “She has courage.” “And she seems to have money,” Mrs. Flitch put in. “Yes, Mr. Arnold thinks she has ample means.” “Then it must be alimony.” “We have heard nothing of a divorce.” “I think, when people are married, they should live together until death parts them. And if they won’t, they should make a clean breast of it, and let folks know exactly where they stand, inside the law or out of it,” Mrs. Flitch announced virtuously. “Nothing like that is ever hidden. In time I suppose something clarifying will happen.” “Well, I hope it won’t be disgraceful.” “It is not easy for scandal to touch a woman who devotes her life to bringing up children. Did you ever think of that?” Mrs. Arnold shot back. “I think we should stand by Mrs. Cutter and help her all we can with this baby,” she added. “Oh, I’m willing to do my duty. But she never gives me the chance to do anything. I’m the mother of five healthy children, yet she will pass by my door and ask somebody about that baby’s diet who never had a child,” Mrs. Flitch complained. Thus the wind of private opinion, which is more dangerous than public opinion, veered and changed toward Helen Cutter. Her skies cleared, without her ever having suspected the fury with which they were charged against her. Of all the good women I have ever known, she was the least concerned for her reputation. And this is one of the weaknesses of that class, a craven, almost guilty fear of evil tongues, which more vulnerable women do not share.