DEARTH. (with arrested brush). Puts it up for ever? You know, I am afraid that when the day for that comes I shan't be able to stand it. It will be too exciting. My poor heart, Margaret. MARGARET (rushing at him). No, no, it will be lucky you, for it isn't to be a bit like that. I am to be a girl and woman day about for the first year. You will never know which I am till you look at my hair. And even then you won't know, for if it is down I shall put it up, and if it is up I shall put it down. And so my Daddy will gradually get used to the idea. DEARTH. (wryly). I see you have been thinking it out. MARGARET (gleaming). I have been doing more than that. Shut your eyes, Dad, and I shall give you a glimpse into the future. DEARTH. I don't know that I want that: the present is so good. MARGARET. Shut your eyes, please. DEARTH. No, Margaret. MARGARET. Please, Daddy. DEARTH. Oh, all right. They are shut. MARGARET. Don't open them till I tell you. What finger is that? DEARTH. The dirty one. MARGARET (on her knees among the leaves). Daddy, now I am putting up my hair. I have got such a darling of a mirror. It is such a darling mirror I 've got, Dad. Dad, don't look. I shall tell you about it. It is a little pool of water. I wish we could take it home and hang it up. Of course the moment my hair is up there will be other changes also; for instance, I shall talk quite differently. DEARTH. Pooh. Where are my matches, dear? MARGARET, Top pocket, waistcoat. DEARTH (trying to light his pipe in darkness). You were meaning to frighten me just now. MARGARET. No. I am just preparing you. You see, darling, I can't call you Dad when my hair is up. I think I shall call you Parent. (He growls.) Parent dear, do you remember the days when your Margaret was a slip of a girl, and sat on your knee? How foolish we were, Parent, in those distant days. DEARTH. Shut up, Margaret. MARGARET. Now I must be more distant to you; more like a boy who could not sit on your knee any more. DEARTH. See here, I want to go on painting. Shall I look now? MARGARET. I am not quite sure whether I want you to. It makes such a difference. Perhaps you won't know me. Even the pool is looking a little scared. (The change in her voice makes him open his eyes quickly. She confronts him shyly.) What do you think? Will I do? DEARTH. Stand still, dear, and let me look my fill. The Margaret that is to be. MARGARET (the change in his voice falling clammy on her). You'll see me often enough, Daddy, like this, so you don't need to look your fill. You are looking as long as if this were to be the only time. DEARTH. (with an odd tremor). Was I? Surely it isn't to be that. MARGARET. Be gay, Dad. (Bumping into him and round him and over him.) You will be sick of Margaret with her hair up before you are done with her. DEARTH. I expect so.