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