Clarice knew Mrs. Dumps, and also had frequently seen Sarah Dumps, but had never for one moment thought that Ferdy would be attracted by such a bold, chattering girl, who flirted indiscriminately with every man, good-looking or plain. "I thought Sarah had gone to London." "So she has!" said Mrs. Rebson, fiercely, "she went over a year ago, and with her good looks--all paint and dye--and brazen impudence--ah, that's genuine enough--she pushed her way on to the stage." "So Mrs. Dumps told me," said Miss Baird. "Sarah is dancing and singing at some West-end music-hall." "She is that, and fine dancing it is, I don't doubt--the hussy. I'd rather see a child of mine in her grave than capering as a butterfly before gentry." "Butterflies don't caper, Nanny." "This one does," sniffed the old woman, viciously. "She calls herself Butterfly on the stage." "The Butterfly?" "No--just Butterfly, when she ought to be called Cat. Well, then, my love, Mrs. Dumps, who is a cousin of mine (and I don't think much of her dressing and screeching like a peacock) called to see me the other day, and told me that Master Ferdy had been seeing Sarah--I can't bring myself to call her Zara--such affectation. He's been driving and talking and walking, and giving her presents, and Mrs. Dumps, who is a born fool, thinks that Master Ferdy means marriage." Clarice started to her feet. "Oh, Nanny!" "What's the use of saying, 'Oh, Nanny,' like that?" snapped Mrs. Rebson. "You know what an angel Master Ferdy is, and how easily a pretty face can beguile him--not that Sarah is pretty, the minx. It's her fault, and I'd tar and feather her and ride her on a rail if I had my way. Why can't she leave the boy alone? I know you are jealous of Master Ferdy, Miss Clarice, but as you have a head on your shoulders--I don't deny that, lovey--it is only right that you should know the truth. I can't tell Mr. Horran, as there would be trouble."