"Well," she said next, "what you're thinking now is that Denis wants me.
He _doesn't_--not much. He's not awf'ly fond of me, Peter; I think he's
rather tired of me, 'cause I often want to do tiresome things, that
aren't done. I think he knows I don't belong. He's very kind and pleasant
always; but he'd be as happy without me, and much happier with another
wife who fitted in more. He only took me as a sort of luxury; he didn't
really need me. And you do; you and Thomas. You want me much more than he
ever did, or ever could. You want me so much that even if Denis did want
me a great deal, I should come to you, because you want me more, and
because all his life he's had the things he wanted, and now it's your
turn. 'Tisn't _fair_. Why shouldn't you have things too--you and Thomas?
Thomas and you and I can be happy together with no money and nothing else
much; we can make our own good time as we go along, if we have each
other. Oh, Peter, let's!"

She bent down to him, reaching out her hands, and Thomas smiled on her
lap. So for a moment the three stayed, and the woods were hushed round
them, waiting. Then in the green roof above a riot of shrill, sweet
triumph broke the hush, and Peter leaped to his feet and laughed.

"Oh, Lucy, let's. Why not? I told Thomas the day before yesterday that we
were going to have a good time now. Well, then, let's have it. Who's to
prevent it? It's our turn; it's our turn. We'll begin from now and take
things and keep them.... Oh, d'you mean it, Lucy? D'you mean you'll come
and play with us, for ever and ever?"

"'Course I will," she said, simply, like a child.

He fell on his knees beside her and leant on his hands and peered into
Thomas's face.