Mycroft has never seen Ilde so pleased. He's surprised, but that seems more to do with his own reaction to her smile than to the fact that she's smiled at all. Her obvious happiness inspires, in turn, something similar in him—not nearly as close to the surface, and not what he would call happiness, but perhaps a small flicker of satisfaction, or even contentment—and it warms him for a time.

The smile also makes her look much younger, and subsequently makes Mycroft feel quite old, and he briefly wonders if their—friendship? acquaintanceship? odd understanding of one another?—is completely proper. He knows Lyla is even younger than Ilde, but he is always aware of that. Ilde, though...

Her demeanor at once has the impetuousness of youth and the trained falseness of age. Who is she to him, really, that making her smile could inspire something so close to pride?

“I think as much can be said of many places,” he replies with a small, wry smile before taking a drink of his scotch.