Ebeling (shocked).
What!
Margot.
Why should you be astonished at that? Now that I know you love me? Only for a year! Perhaps for two! Yes, two! Oh, please, two! Then, later, when you've left me, let others come! It's all the same, who! For marriage, of course, I'm entirely spoiled! But I'll be revenged on him! On him and on Virtue and on Loyalty and on all that stuff with which they've so long tormented me. And the evening before my wedding--then may I--come to you again? Toward twilight! It must be on a Sunday. I'll arrange for that, so we can be alone. Ah, I shall count the days till then! Why do you look at me like that? (Ebeling stands up and throws himself on the sofa, burying his face in his hands. A long pause.) What can I have done? (She stands up. Another pause.) Surely I haven't done you any wrong by loving you?
Ebeling.
Go home now, my child.
Margot.
I wanted to leave some time ago, but you made me stay. (She buttons her coat, throws on her boa, and is about to go out. Then she turns around resolutely, and places herself before him.) Oh, I know--I'm disgraced--I'm not worthy of anything better--; but I needn't have had to endure such scorn and contempt! (Ebeling rises, looks at her, groans, buries his face in his hands, and falls back into the chair. Margot kneels beside him, weeping.) Dear--dearest--what is it? What's wrong, my darling?
Ebeling (compelling himself to be composed).
Stand up! (She does so.) I am going to tell you. (Stands up himself.) I asked your mother's consent to my marrying you to-day. There, now you know it. Good-bye. (Sits down in the writing-chair. A pause.)