Gervase, staring open-mouthed at his mother, burst into a great laugh. He was astonished at her apparent knowledge of the companion who would not let him go wrong, but the confusion of the pronoun daunted him a little. Did she think it was old Hewitt that was going with him? He had enough of cunning to ask no questions, but laughed with a great roar of satisfaction mingled with wonderment. Lady Piercey put up her hands to her ears. “Don’t make such a noise,” she said. “You laugh like your father, Gervase, and you’re too young to roar like that. You must try to behave very nicely, too, and don’t roar the roof off a London house with your laughing. And don’t make a noise in company, Gervase. We put up with everything here because we’re so fond of you; but in town, though they’ll be fond of you, it makes a difference, not being used to you from your cradle. You must remember all I taught you about manners when you were a little boy.” “Oh, mother, don’t you be afraid; my manners will be well looked after, too. I sha’n’t dare to open my mouth,” said Gervase, with another laugh. “Well, I believe they are very particular,” said Lady Piercey, with a still more bewildering change of pronouns. “And, Gervase, there’s young ladies there: mind that you are very nice and civil to them, but don’t go any further than you can draw back.” “Oh, I’ll be kept safe from the young ladies, you take your oath of that!” he cried, with another shout of a laugh. “For goodness gracious sake,” cried Lady Piercey, “take him away!--Meg, can’t you take him away and give him a good talking to? You have no nerves, and I’m nothing but a bundle of ’em. That laugh of his goes up to the crown of my head and down to the soles of my feet. Take him off, and let me look over his things in peace. And mind, Gervase, you’ve to listen to what Meg says to you, just the same as if I were speaking myself; for she knows about men, having married one, and she can give you a deal of good advice. Go out to the beech avenue, and then I can see you from my window, and make sure that you are paying attention to what she says.” When Gervase was safely outside with his patient cousin, whose part in all these proceedings was so laborious and uninterrupted, though she was not permitted to do much more than look on--he plucked off his hat and flung it up into the air in triumph, executing at the same time a sort of dance upon the gravel. “Does she mean what she says, Meg? and how has she heard of it? and what has made her give in? Lord! what will some folks say when they know that it’s all with her will?” “What is it you are going to do, Gervase? and what do you mean by ‘some folks’?” Margaret cried. The Softy looked at her for a moment irresolute, doubtful, it would seem, what he should reply; and then he laughed again, more loudly than ever, and said: “Shouldn’t you like to know?”