Rot!
MARGARET (reassuringly). I won't, you know; no, never. Oh, I have quite decided, so don't be afraid, (Disordering his hair.) Will you hate him at first, Daddy? Daddy, will you hate him? Will you hate him, Daddy?
DEARTH (at work). Whom?
MARGARET. Well, if there was?
DEARTH. If there was what, darling?
MARGARET. You know the kind of thing I mean, quite well. Would you hate him at first?
DEARTH. I hope not. I should want to strangle him, but I wouldn't hate him.
MARGARET. I would. That is to say, if I liked him.
DEARTH. If you liked him how could you hate him?
MARGARET. For daring!
DEARTH. Daring what?
MARTARET. You know. (Sighing.) But of course I shall have no say in the matter. You will do it all. You do everything for me.
DEARTH (with a groan). I can't help it.
MARGARET. You will even write my love-letters, if I ever have any to write, which I won't.
DEARTH (ashamed). Surely to goodness, Margaret, I will leave you alone to do that!
MARGARET. Not you; you will try to, but you won't be able.
DEARTH (in a hopeless attempt at self-defence). I want you, you see, to do everything exquisitely. I do wish I could leave you to do things a little more for yourself. I suppose it's owing to my having had to be father and mother both. I knew nothing practically about the bringing up of children, and of course I couldn't trust you to a nurse.
MARGARET (severely). Not you; so sure you could do it better yourself. That's you all over. Daddy, do you remember how you taught me to balance a biscuit on my nose, like a puppy?
DEARTH (sadly). Did I?
MARGARET. You called me Rover.
DEARTH. I deny that.
MARGARET. And when you said 'snap' I caught the biscuit in my mouth.
DEARTH. Horrible.
MARGARET (gleaming). Daddy, I can do it still! (Putting a biscuit on her nose.) Here is the last of my supper. Say 'snap,' Daddy.
DEARTH. Not I.
MARGARET. Say 'snap,' please.
DEARTH. I refuse.
MARGARET. Daddy!
DEARTH. Snap. (She catches the biscuit in her mouth.) Let that be the last time, Margaret.
MARGARET. Except just once more. I don't mean now, but when my hair is really up. If I should ever have a--a Margaret of my own, come in and see me, Daddy, in my white bed, and say 'snap'--and I'll have the biscuit ready.
DEARTH (turning away his head). Right O.
MARGARET. Dad, if I ever should marry, not that I will but if I should--at the marriage ceremony will you let me be the one who says 'I do'?
DEARTH. I suppose I deserve this.
MARGARET (coaxingly). You think I 'm pretty, don't you, Dad, whatever other people say?
DEARTH. Not so bad.
MARGARET. I know I have nice ears.
DEARTH. They are all right now, but I had to work on them for months.
MARGARET. You don't mean to say that you did my ears?
DEARTH. Rather!
MARGARET (grown humble). My dimple is my own.
DEARTH. I am glad you think so. I wore out the point of my little finger over that dimple.
MARGARET. Even my dimple! Have I anything that is really mine? A bit of my nose or anything?
DEARTH. When you were a babe you had a laugh that was all your own.
MARGARET. Haven't I it now?
DEARTH. It's gone. (He looks ruefully at her.) I'll tell you how it went. We were fishing in a stream--that is to say, I was wading and you were sitting on my shoulders holding the rod. We didn't catch anything. Somehow or another--I can't think how I did it--you irritated me, and I answered you sharply.
MARGARET (gasping). I can't believe that.
DEARTH. Yes, it sounds extraordinary, but I did. It gave you a shock, and, for the moment, the world no longer seemed a safe place to you; your faith in me had always made it safe till then. You were suddenly not even sure of your bread and butter, and a frightened tear came to your eyes. I was in a nice state about it, I can tell you. (He is in a nice state about it still.)
MARGARET. Silly! (Bewildered) But what has that to do with my laugh, Daddy?
DEARTH. The laugh that children are born with lasts just so long as they have perfect faith.