sees a friend below, who is hovering in the air knocking off tall hats with his feet. The wearers don’t see him. They are too old. You can’t see PETER if you are old. They think he is a draught at the corner.)
WENDY. Peter!
PETER (looking up casually). Hullo, Wendy.
(She flies down to him, to the horror of her mother, who rushes to the window.)
WENDY (making a last attempt). You don’t feel you would like to say anything to my parents, Peter, about a very sweet subject?
PETER. No, Wendy.
WENDY. About me, Peter?
PETER. No. (He gets out his pipes, which she knows is a very bad sign. She appeals with her arms to MRS. DARLING, who is probably thinking that these children will all need to be tied to their beds at night.)
MRS. DARLING (from the window). Peter, where are you? Let me adopt you too.
(She is the loveliest age for a woman, but too old to see PETER clearly.)
PETER. Would you send me to school?
