"Oh, why are we troubled like this? Why can't we be like them? We shan't ever get any nearer happiness this way. We shan't ever be better than those two. We've simply got a few more thoughts, a little more knowledge—and it may be quite the wrong kind of knowledge."
"Then why—" began the Doctor, as though this begged the whole question.
"Oh, wait," said Lilian, "I had to have it out with you. I had to talk of these things, as though talking's any good! I couldn't let you just take me for granted. Don't you see? I suppose all this talk between us is nothing but an extension of the age-long process of mating. I'm just like the primitive woman running away from her man."
The Doctor paused in his walk and took hold of her elbows. "Does that mean that you've been playing with me all this time?"
"Coquette," smiled Lilian, "only it's not been conscious until this moment. Somehow those two reminded me. There's always this dread of capture with us women, and nowadays it's more complicated and extended. Yes, thought does give us longer life. Everything has a larger prelude. I've been afraid of your big house, which will be such a nuisance to look after. I've been afraid of a too brief honeymoon, and then of you becoming a cheerful companion at meals and a regular winder up of clocks." She laughed hysterically. "And then you might do woodcarving in the winter evenings."
"Not on your life," roared the Doctor. "At the worst I shall bore you with my many-times-told jests."
"And at the best I shall learn to put up with them," said Lilian. "That's where my sense of humour will come in."
The Doctor suddenly took her in his arms. "But you care?" he whispered. "You consent to make me young again?"
She stirred curiously in his arms, her mind newly alert.
"Oh, I never thought of that. How stupid we clever people are! I never thought that being a lover would make you young."