Ebeling. Occupation? Why? Margot. I want to leave home. Ebeling Is that your earnest intention? Margot (_nods_). But, unfortunately, I've learned nothing. And then--it has to be an occupation that wouldn't humiliate me--and that wouldn't spoil my hands (_takes off her gloves_), for I love my hands. I don't care a bit about my face, but my hands--they're like two friends. I can keep up long conversations with them--especially with the left. That one's so weak. So, something that wouldn't spoil the hands--and would leave me time for reading--and--well, I want to be alone. Ebeling. I might have suggested nursing, even though it requires the constant use of the hands. But, of course, you'd never be alone. Margot. No. I have no love for my fellow-creatures. I don't want to do anything for them. Ebeling. Those are hard words, Fraeulein Margot. Margot. I am hard. What have my fellow-creatures ever done for me? Ebeling. And--your parents? Margot. You refer to mamma? Mamma certainly means well. But mamma has torn my soul from my body. She has made use of the old principle of family rule--which may have had some sense in the Stone Age--and has turned me into a doll, a doll-creature that moves its eyes and says _ba_ when you press its head.--Just watch, Herr Ebeling!--Now haven't I a touching fashion of casting up my eyes when I look at you in this simple, thoughtful, innocent way?--And when I let the lids fall again in all the bashful piety that I still can muster--isn't it simply sweet? Ebeling (_earnestly_). My dear young girl, I really believe I must begin to say "stop" now! Margot. Dear me! You're already disgusted with me! But if you had any idea--do you know what you'd think? "Pity that I wasted such pains on a creature like her!" Ebeling. I should never think that, my dear child. I should only pity you and love you the more. Margot. I don't want to be pitied! And loved? (_Shakes her head._) At least not that way--and not the other, either. That's still stupider. When I listen to my friends--this one loves me, and that one loves me, and this one kept my glove, and that one kissed my handkerchief--ugh! It reminds me of the cackling of a lot of hens. Herr Ebeling, do you believe criminals are scornful? Ebeling. Why do you ask? Margot. Please answer. Ebeling. It's very often true of born criminals. Margot. Well, then, I've the criminal nature.