Fenton [severely]. Fair's fair, Miss. If he's keeping you, you can't be taking up with me at the same time. That puts the finish on it.
Margaret. But he doesn't keep me. I keep myself.
Fenton. Wait a minute. You support yourself, and live with him of your own free will. Then you've got no excuse for being immoral; 'tisn't like you had to make your living at it. [At door.] Good-by.
Margaret. But I can explain everything.
Fenton. It's no use, Miss. Even though I am a salesman, I've got a sense of honor. I sized you up as a married woman when I came in just now, or I never would have made love to you at all.
Margaret. Oh—wait! Supposing I should want to buy some more dictionaries.
Fenton [returning]. You've got my card, Miss. The 'phone number is on it. Bryant 4253. [Sees Margaret hang her head.] Don't feel hurt, Miss. You'll get over these queer ideas some day, and when you do, well, you've got my number. So long, kid.
[Exit Fenton, door, center.]
Margaret [taking his card from table and placing it to her lips soulfully]. My Apollo, Bryant 4253!
Pendleton. Did you get a good start with your scandal. [Margaret hangs her head.] It's no use; I'm convinced we're in a hopeless muddle.