"Pip, amind me to tell you somethin' when we get home." Pip turned a cold glance upon her. "You'll tell me all about it on the way there, I expect." "I _won't_!" cried Pipette indignantly. "Oh, yes, you will. Women can't keep nothin' to theirselves." This pronouncement, delivered in Mr. Evans's most impressive manner, roused Emily and Mr. Pipes to unseemly mirth, and nearly reduced Pipette to tears. Mr. Pipes remarked that Pip was a "caution," while Emily summed him up as a "cure." Shortly after that, Emily and Mr. Pipes having made a now familiar reference to "the same old spot at half-past four on Sunday," the visit terminated with the usual expressions of good-will, and the children were taken home to tea. Pipette's offended dignity held out till next morning, when, as soon as the banging of the front door announced that Father had gone off in his brougham for his daily round, she proposed a visit to the Consulting Room. "In the morning? What for?" said Pip. Pipette was positively heaving with suppressed excitement. "You go there and wait," she said, "and I'll run down to Cook a minute, and then we'll--no, I _won't_ tell you yet! Go on!" Fearful of letting her precious secret escape too soon, she gave Pip a push in the direction of the Consulting Room and danced off to the kitchen, leaving that impassive philosopher to ruminate upon the volatile temperament of the female sex. However, he departed as bidden, and amused himself by sitting in the swing-chair, and endeavouring without success, for the hundredth time, to play a tune on a stethoscope. Presently Pipette returned, carrying two little basins of the soup which usually served to span the yawning gulf between their breakfast and dinner. Pip took his soup, and began to drink it. "Stop a minute, Pip!" screamed Pipette. Pip put down his basin. "Well, what is it now?" he remarked. Pipette at last unfolded her plan. "Pip," she began a little shyly,--like all inventors, she dreaded criticism,--"you 'member poor Mr. Pipes saying how cold he was?" "Yes." "Well, let's send him this nice hot soup, Pip,--by Terriphone!" The last words came with a rush. Then Pipette, heaving such a sigh as Sinbad must have emitted when he had got rid of the Old Man of the Sea, awaited her brother's reply. Pip smiled indulgently. "Silly kid!" he remarked. Pipette had expected this. "Yes," she said; "but, Pip, wouldn't it be _loverly_ to do it?" Pip's practical mind began to evolve difficulties. "_How_ are you goin' to do it?" Pipette projected upon him a glance in which artless surprise, deferential admiration, and simple faith were exquisitely mingled,--a glance which, in after years, her husband once ruefully described as "good for a ten-pound note at any hour of the day,"--and replied simply-- "I thought _you_ would manage all that, Pip. You're so bewwy clever!" "All right," said Pip. "Let's do it." Thus it is that women make fools of the strongest men.