MARGARET. You don't know why he objects to my writing--it's only out of love. He feels that I live in a world which is closed to him; he blushes to see me exposing the innermost secrets of my soul to strangers. He wants me for himself, for himself alone. And that's why he rushed off ... no, not rushed; Clement isn't the sort of person who rushes off ... [Illustration: PAUL HEYSE] _Permission Albert Langen, Munich_ From Olaf Gulbransson's "Famous Contemporaries" GILBERT. An admirable bit of observation. But at any rate he's gone. We needn't discuss the tempo of his departure. And he's gone because he won't allow you to yield to your desire to create. MARGARET. Oh, if he could only understand that! I could be the best, the truest, the noblest wife in the world, if the right man existed! GILBERT. You admit by that expression that he isn't the right one. MARGARET. I didn't say that! GILBERT. I want you to realize that he is simply enslaving you, ruining you, seeking to crush your personality out of sheer egoism. Oh, think of the Margaret you were in the old days! Think of the freedom you had to develop your ego when you loved me! Think of the choice spirits who were your associates then, of the disciples who gathered round me and were your disciples too. Don't you sometimes long to be back again? Don't you sometimes think of the little room with the balcony ... and the Isar flowing beneath the window ... (He seizes her hands and draws near to her.) MARGARET. O God ...! GILBERT. It can all be so again--it needn't be the Isar. I'll tell you what to do, Margaret. If he comes back, tell him that you have some important business to see to in Munich, and spend the time with me. Oh, Margaret, you're so lovely! We'll be happy once again, Margaret, as we used to be. You remember, don't you? (Very close to her.) "So, drunk with bliss, I hang upon thy neck ..." MARGARET (retreats quickly from him). Go--go! No... no ... go, I tell you! You know I don't love you any more. GILBERT. Oh, ... h'm ... Really? Well, then I can only beg your pardon. (Pause.) Good-by, Margaret ... good-by. MARGARET. Good-by. GILBERT. Good-by ... (Turns back once more.) Won't you at least, as a parting gift, let me have a copy of your novel? I gave you mine. MARGARET. It isn't out yet--it won't be till next week. GILBERT. If you don't mind telling me ... what sort of a story is it? MARGARET. It is the story of my life--of course disguised, so that no one can recognize me. GILBERT. Oh ...? How did you manage that? MARGARET. It was quite simple. The heroine, to begin with, is not a writer but a painter ... GILBERT. Very clever of you. MARGARET. Her first husband was not a cotton-manufacturer but a great speculator--and she deceived him not with a tenor ... GILBERT. Aha! MARGARET. What are you laughing at? GILBERT. So you deceived him with a tenor? That's something I didn't know. MARGARET. How do you know I did? GILBERT. Why, you've just informed me yourself.