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? Don't ... don't look like that.... Oh, you're ill; do sit down; it's so stupid to stand about."
Peter said, his own hands hanging at his sides, "Do you mind going away, both of you. I don't think I want to talk to either of you to-day.... I suppose you've brought money to give me too, Lucy, have you?"
Lucy coloured faintly over her small pale face.
"I won't give you anything you don't like, Peter. But I may give a present to Thomas, mayn't I?"
"No," said Peter, without interest or emotion.