"Laugh at you, my boy! It is likely I should laugh at you. Don't you know I am as proud of you as your mother herself can be? I am glad and proud," said Mrs. Dennistoun, "for I am glad for her as well as for you. Now, Pippo, you want something to eat." The boy looked up with a laugh. "Yes, granny," he said, "you always divine that sort of thing. I do." Mrs. Dennistoun did not occupy her mind with any thought of that little unintentional and grateful jibe--that she always divined that sort of thing. Among the other great patiences of her life she had learnt to know that the mother and son, loving and tender as they were, had put her back unconsciously into the proper place of the old woman--always consulted, always thought of, never left out; but divining chiefly _that sort of thing_, the actual needs, the more apparent thoughts of those about her. She knew it, but she did not dwell upon it--sometimes it made her smile, but it scarcely hurt her, and never made her bitter, she comprehended it all so well. Meanwhile Pippo, left alone, devoted himself to the dogs for a minute or two, making them almost too happy. Then, at the very climax of riotous enjoyment, cast them off with a sudden, "Down, Yarrow!" which took all the curl in a moment out of the noble tail with which Yarrow was sweeping all the unconsidered trifles off Mrs. Dennistoun's work-table. The young autocrat walked to the window as he shook off his adoring vassal, and stared out for a little with his hands deeply dug into his pockets. And then a new idea came into Pippo's head; the most brilliant new idea, which restored at once the light to his eyes and elevation to his crest. He said nothing of this, however, till he had done justice to the excellent luncheon, while his grandmother, seated beside him in the dining-room with her knitting, looked on with pride and pleasure and saw him eat. This was a thing, they were all of accord, which she always thoroughly understood. "You will run out now and telegraph to your mother. She is in the old rooms in Ebury Street, Pippo." "Yes, granny; don't you think now a fellow of my age, having done pretty well and all that, might be trusted to--make a little expedition out of his own head?" "My dear! you have always been trusted, Pippo, you know. I can't remember when your mother or I either have shown any want of trust----" "Oh, it's not that," said Pippo, confused. "I know I've had lots, lots--far more than most fellows--of my own way. It was not that exactly. I meant without consulting any one, just to do a thing out of my own head." "I have no doubt it will be quite a right thing, Pippo; but I should know better if you were to tell me." "That would scarcely be doing it out of my own head, would it, granny? But I can't keep a thing to myself; now Musgrave can, you know; that's the great difference. I suppose it is having nobody but my mother and you, who always spoil me, that has made me that I can't keep a secret."