Gil. Oh, you needn't apologize.
Marg. Apologize! Really, the idea never occurred to me.
Gil. It's wonderful to hark back to it now.
Marg. To what?
Gil. Why shouldn't I say it? To the small room in Steinsdorf street, with its balcony abutting over the Isar. Do you remember, Margaret?
Marg. Suppose we drop the familiar.
Gil. As you please—as you please. [Pause, then suddenly.] You acted shamefully, Margaret.
Marg. What do you mean?
Gil. Would you much rather that I beat around the bush? I can find no other word, to my regret. And it was so uncalled for, too. Straightforwardness would have done just as nicely. It was quite unnecessary to run away from Munich under cover of a foggy night.
Marg. It wasn't night and it wasn't foggy. I left in the morning on the eight-thirty train, in open daylight.