. Why, what's up now?

MARGARET. Well, I'm not out of it--I haven't given up writing.

CLEMENT. You mean by that ...?

MARGARET. Just what I say--that I'm still writing, or at least that I
have written something. Yes, this impulse is stronger than other people
can conceive. I believe I should have gone to pieces if I hadn't
written.

CLEMENT. Well, what have you been writing this time?

MARGARET. A novel. I had too much in my breast that wanted to be
said--I should have choked if I hadn't got it out. I haven't said
anything about it before--but of course I had to tell you sooner or
later. Kuenigel is delighted with it.

CLEMENT. Who is Kuenigel?

MARGARET. My publisher.

CLEMENT. Then somebody's read the thing already?

MARGARET. Yes--and many more will read it. Clement, you'll be
proud--believe me!

CLEMENT. You're mistaken, my dear child. I think you have ... Well,
what sort of things have you put into it?

MARGARET. That's not so easy to explain in one word. The book contains,
so to say, the best of what is to be said about things.

CLEMENT. Brava!

MARGARET. And so I am able to promise you that from this time on I
shan't touch a pen. There's no more need.

CLEMENT. Margaret, do you love me or not?

MARGARET. How can you ask? I love you, and you alone. Much as I have
seen, much as I have observed, I have felt nothing--I waited for you.

CLEMENT. Then bring it here, your novel.

MARGARET. Bring it here? How do you mean?

CLEMENT. That you felt you had to write it--may be; but at least no one
shall read it. Bring it here--we'll throw it in the fire.

MARGARET. Clement ...!

CLEMENT. I ask that much of you--I have a right to ask it.

MARGARET. Oh, it isn't possible! It's ...

CLEMENT. Not possible! When I wish it--when I explain that I make
everything else dependent on it ... you understand me ... it may
perhaps turn out to be possible.

MARGARET. But, Clement, it's already printed.

CLEMENT. What--printed?

MARGARET. Yes ... in a few days it'll be for sale everywhere.

CLEMENT. Margaret ...! And all this without a word to me ...

MARGARET. I couldn't help it, Clement. When you see it, you'll forgive
me--more than that, you'll be proud of me.

CLEMENT. My dear girl, this is past a joke.

MARGARET. Clement ...!

CLEMENT. Good-by, Margaret.

MARGARET. Clement ...! What does this mean? You are going?

CLEMENT. As you see.

MARGARET. When will you be back?

CLEMENT. That I can't