DEARTH. It's nothing; I am sure you would do the same for us.
ALICE. I wish I was as sure.
DEARTH. Of course you would. Glad to be of any help. Get some victuals as quickly as you can. Best of wishes, ma'am, and may your luck change.
ALICE. Same to you, and may yours go on.
MARGARET. Good-night.
ALICE. What is her name, Mister?
DEARTH (who has returned to his easel). Margaret.
ALICE. Margaret. You drew something good out of the lucky bag when you got her, Mister.
DEARTH. Yes.
ALICE. Take care of her; they are easily lost.
(She shuffles away.)
DEARTH. Poor soul. I expect she has had a rough time, and that some man is to blame for it--partly, at any rate. (Restless) That woman rather affects me, Margaret; I don't know why. Didn't you like her husky voice? (He goes on painting.) I say, Margaret, we lucky ones, let's swear always to be kind to people who are down on their luck, and then when we are kind let's be a little kinder.
MARGARET (gleefully). Yes, let's.
DEARTH. Margaret, always feel sorry for the failures, the ones who are always failures--especially in my sort of calling. Wouldn't it be lovely, to turn them on the thirty-ninth year of failure into glittering successes?
MARGARET. Topping.
DEARTH. Topping.
MARGARET. Oh, topping. How could we do it, Dad?
DEARTH. By letter. 'To poor old Tom Broken Heart, Top Attic, Garret Chambers, S.E.--'DEAR SIR,--His Majesty has been graciously pleased to purchase your superb picture of Marlow Ferry.'
MARGARET. 'P.S.--I am sending the money in a sack so as you can hear it chink.'
DEARTH. What could we do for our friend who passed just now? I can't get her out of my head.
MARGARET. You have made me forget her. (Plaintively) Dad, I didn't like it.
DEARTH. Didn't like what, dear?
MARGARET (shuddering). I didn't like her saying that about your losing me.
DEARTH (the one thing of which he is sure). I shan't lose you.
MARGARET (hugging his arm). It would be hard for me if you lost me, but it would be worse for you. I don't know how I know that, but I do know it. What would you do without me?
DEARTH (almost sharply). Don't talk like that, dear. It is wicked and stupid, and naughty. Somehow that poor woman--I won't paint any more to-night.
MARGARET. Let's get out of the wood; it frightens me.
DEARTH. And you loved it a moment ago. Hullo! (He has seen a distant blurred light in the wood, apparently from a window.) I hadn't noticed there was a house there.
MARGARET (tingling). Daddy, I feel sure there wasn't a house there!
DEARTH. Goose. It is just that we didn't look: our old way of letting the world go hang; so interested in ourselves. Nice behaviour for people who have been boasting about what they would do for other people. Now I see what I ought to do.
MARGARET. Let's get out of the wood.
DEARTH. Yes, but my idea first. It is to rouse these people and get food from them for the husky one.
MARGARET (clinging to him). She is too far away now.
DEARTH. I can overtake her.
MARGARET (in a frenzy). Don't go into that house, Daddy! I don't know why it is, but I am afraid of that house!
(He waggles a reproving finger at her.)
DEARTH. There is a kiss for each moment until I come back. (She wipes them from her face.) Oh, naughty, go and stand in the corner. (She stands against a tree but she stamps her foot.) Who has got a nasty temper!
(She tries hard not to smile, but she smiles and he smiles, and they make comic faces at each other, as they have done in similar circumstances since she first opened her eyes.)
I shall be back before you can count a hundred.
(He goes off humming his song so that she may still hear him when he is lost to sight; all just as so often before. She tries dutifully to count her hundred, but the wood grows dark and soon she is afraid again. She runs from tree to tree calling to her Daddy. We begin to lose her among the shadows.)
MARGARET (Out of the impalpable that is carrying her away). Daddy, come back; I don't want to be a might-have-been.