CLEM. Ah, indeed. [_Pause._] Pardon me, it seems I've interrupted your conversation. Pray, don't let me disturb you. GIL. What were we talking about just now? CLEM. Perhaps I can assist your memory. In Munich, if I recall correctly, you always talked about your books. GIL. Quite so. As a matter of fact, I was speaking about my new novel. CLEM. Pray, continue. Nowadays, I find that I, too, can talk literature. Eh, Margaret? Is it naturalistic? Symbolic? Autobiographical? Or--let me see--is it distilled? GIL. Oh, in a certain sense we all write about our life-experiences. CLEM. H'm. That's good to know. GIL. Yes, if you're painting the character of Nero, in my opinion it's absolutely necessary that you should have set fire to Rome-- CLEM. Naturally. GIL. From what source should a writer derive his inspiration if not from himself? Where should he go for his models if not to the life which is nearest to him? [_Margaret becomes more and more uneasy._] CLEM. Isn't it a pity, though, that the models are so rarely consulted? But I must say, if I were a woman, I'd think twice before I'd let such people know anything--[_Sharply._] In decent society, sir, that's the same as compromising a woman! GIL. I don't know whether I belong to decent society or not, but, in my humble opinion, it's the same as ennobling a woman. CLEM. Indeed. GIL. The essential thing is, does it really hit the mark! In a higher sense, what does it matter if the public does know that a woman was happy in this bed or that? CLEM. Mr. Gilbert, allow me to remind you that you are speaking in the presence of a lady. GIL. I'm speaking in the presence of a comrade, Baron, who, perhaps, shares my views in these matters. CLEM. Oh! MARG. Clement! [_Throws herself at his feet._] Clement. CLEM. [_staggered_]. But--Margaret. MARG. Your forgiveness, Clement! CLEM. But, Margaret. [_To Gilbert._] It's very painful to me, Mr. Gilbert. Now, get up, Margaret. Get up, everything's all right; everything's arranged. Yes, yes. You have but to call up Künigel. I have already arranged everything with him. We are going to put it out for sale. Is that suitable to you? GIL. What are you going to put out for sale, if I may be so bold as to ask? The novel madame has written? CLEM. Ah, so you know already. At all events, Mr. Gilbert, it seems that your _camaraderie_ is not required any further. GIL. Yes. There's really nothing left for me but to beg to be excused. I'm sorry. CLEM. I very much regret, Mr. Gilbert, that you had to witness a scene which might almost be called domestic. GIL. Oh, I do not wish to intrude any further. GIL. Madame--Baron, may I offer you a copy of my book as a token that all ill-feeling between us has vanished? As a feeble sign of my sympathy, Baron? CLEM. You're very good, Mr. Gilbert. I must, however, tell you that this is going to be the last, or the one before the last, that I ever intend to read. GIL. The one before the last? CLEM. Yes.