"It is sweet, Peter, isn't it?" Wendy said, frightfully
gratified. "Peter, I think Curly has your nose."

"Michael takes after you."

She went to him and put her hand on his shoulder.

"Dear Peter," she said, "with such a large family, of course, I
have now passed my best, but you don't want to [ex]change me, do
you?"

"No, Wendy."

Certainly he did not want a change, but he looked at her
uncomfortably, blinking, you know, like one not sure whether he
was awake or asleep.

"Peter, what is it?"

"I was just thinking," he said, a little scared. "It is only
make-believe, isn't it, that I am their father?"

"Oh yes," Wendy said primly [formally and properly].

"You see," he continued apologetically, "it would make me seem
so old to be their real father."

"But they are ours, Peter, yours and mine."