MARGARET (more or less upside down). And Daddy tiptoeing in to take it off. DEARTH. Which is more than you deserve. MARGARET (in a tree). Then why does he stand so long at the door? And before he has gone she bursts out laughing, for she has been awake all the time. DEARTH. That's about it. What a life! But I oughtn't to have brought you here. Best to have the sheet over you when the moon is about; moonlight is bad for little daughters. MARGARET (pelting him with nuts). I can't sleep when the moon's at the full; she keeps calling to me to get up. Perhaps I am _her_ daughter too. DEARTH. Gad, you look it to-night. MARGARET. Do I? Then can't you paint me into the picture as well as Mamma? You could call it 'A Mother and Daughter' or simply 'Two ladies.' if the moon thinks that calling me her daughter would make her seem too old. DEARTH. O matre pulchra filia pulchrior. That means, 'O Moon--more beautiful than any twopenny-halfpenny daughter.' MARGARET (emerging in an unexpected place). Daddy, do you really prefer her? DEARTH. 'Sh! She's not a patch on you; it's the sort of thing we say to our sitters to keep them in good humour. (He surveys ruefully a great stain on her frock.) I wish to heaven, Margaret, we were not both so fond of apple-tart. And what's this? (Catching hold of her skirt.) MARGARET (unnecessarily). It's a tear. DEARTH. I should think it is a tear. MARGARET. That boy at the farm did it. He kept calling Snubs after me, but I got him down and kicked him in the stomach. He is rather a jolly boy. DEARTH. He sounds it. Ye Gods, what a night! MARGARET (considering the picture). And what a moon! Dad, she is not quite so fine as that. DEARTH. 'Sh! I have touched her up. MARGARET. Dad, Dad--what a funny man! (She has seen MR. COADE with whistle, enlivening the wood. He pirouettes round them and departs to add to the happiness of others. MARGARET gives an excellent imitation of him at which her father shakes his head, then reprehensibly joins in the dance. Her mood changes, she clings to him.) MARGARET. Hold me tight, Daddy, I 'm frightened. I think they want to take you away from me. DEARTH. Who, gosling? MARGARET. I don't know. It's too lovely, Daddy; I won't be able to keep hold of it. DEARTH. What is? MARGARET. The world--everything--and you, Daddy, most of all. Things that are too beautiful can't last. DEARTH (who knows it). Now, how did you find that out? MARGARET (still in his arms). I don't know, Daddy, am I sometimes stranger than other people's daughters? DEARTH. More of a madcap, perhaps. MARGARET (solemnly). Do you think I am sometimes too full of gladness? DEARTH. My sweetheart, you do sometimes run over with it. (He is at his easel again.) MARGARET (persisting). To be very gay, dearest dear, is so near to being very sad. DEARTH (who knows it). How did you find that out, child? MARGARET. I don't know. From something in me that's afraid. (Unexpectedly.) Daddy, what is a 'might-have-been?'