"You've no right to come here and say these things to me. I didn't want
you to come; I never asked you to; and now I never want to see you again.
Please go, Lord Evelyn."

Lord Evelyn paused in his walk, and stood looking at him for a moment,
his lips parted to speak, his hands clasped behind him over the gold head
of his cane.

Then, into the ensuing silence, came Lucy, small and pale and wet in her
grey furs, and stood like a startled kitten, her wide eyes turning from
one angry face to the other.

Peter said to her, in a voice she had never heard from him before, "So
you've come too."

Lord Evelyn tittered disagreeably. "Didn't expect her, of course, did
you. So unlikely she'd come, after getting a letter like that.... I
suppose you're wondering, Lucy, what I'm doing _dans cette galère_."

"No," said Lucy, "I wasn't. I know. You've come to see Peter, like me."

He laughed again. "Yes, that's it. Like you. And now he pretends he won't
take the money he asked for, Lucy. Won't be beholden to me at any price.
Perhaps he was waiting for you."

Lucy was looking at Peter, who looked so ill and so strange and new.
Never before had he looked at her like that, with hard eyes. Peter was
angry; the skies had fallen.

She said, and put out her hands to him, "What's the matter, Peter?