Lucy looked at him silently for a while. Then she said slowly, "I see. Yes, I see you wouldn't want to, of course. They _are_ scum. And you're not. But I am, I think. I belong to the same sort of people they do. I could swindle and cheat too, I expect. It's the people at the bottom who do that. They're my relations, you see, not yours." "My dear Lucy, only Peter is your relation." "Peter and Thomas. And I count the rest too, because they're Peter's. So let me do all that is to be done, Denis. Don't you bother. I'll take them money." "Let them alone, Lucy. You'd better, you know. What's the good?" "I don't know," said Lucy. "None, I expect. None at all; because Peter wouldn't take it from me without you." She came a little nearer him, and put her hand on his knee like a wistful puppy. "Denis," she said, "I wish _you_ would. They know already that I care. But I wish _you_ would. Peter'd like you to. He'd be more pleased than if I did; much more. Peter cares for you and me and Thomas extraordinarily much; and you can't compare carings, but the way he cares for you is the most wonderful of all, I believe. If you went to him ... if you showed him you cared ... he'd take it from you. He wouldn't take it from me without you, because he'd suspect you weren't wanting him to have it. Denis, won't you go to Peter, as you used to do long ago, before he was in disgrace and poor, before he was scum? Can't you, Denis?" Denis had coloured faintly. He always did when people were emotional. Lucy seldom was; she had a delicious morning freshness that was like the cool wind on the hills in spring. "Peter never comes here, Lucy, does he. If he wanted to see me, I suppose he would." Lucy was looking strangely at the beautiful face with the faint flush rising in it. She apparently thought no reply necessary to his words, but said again, "_Can't_ you, Denis? Or is it too hard, too much bother, too much stepping out of the way?" "Oh, it's not the bother, of course. But ... but I really don't see anything to be gained by it, that's the fact.... Our meetings, on the last few occasions when we have met, haven't been particularly comfortable. I don't think Peter likes them any better than I do.... One can't force intercourse, Lucy; if it doesn't run easily and smoothly, it had better be left alone. There have been things between us, between Peter's family and my family, that can't be forgotten or put aside by either of us, I suppose; and I don't think Peter wants to be reminded of them by seeing me any more than I do by seeing him. It's--it's so beastly uncomfortable, you know," he added boyishly, ruffling up his hair with his hand; and concluded didactically, "People _must_ drift apart if their ways lie in quite different spheres; it's inevitable." Denis, who had a boyish reticence, had expanded and explained himself more than usual. Lucy's hand dropped from his knee on to her own.