Clem. Ah, so you know already. At all events, Mr. Gilbert, it seems that your camaraderie is not required any further.
Gil. Yes. There's really nothing left for me but to beg to be excused. I'm sorry.
Clem. I very much regret, Mr. Gilbert, that you had to witness a scene which might almost be called domestic.
Gil. Oh, I do not wish to intrude any further.
Gil. Madame—Baron, may I offer you a copy of my book as a token that all ill-feeling between us has vanished? As a feeble sign of my sympathy, Baron?
Clem. You're very good, Mr. Gilbert. I must, however, tell you that this is going to be the last, or the one before the last, that I ever intend to read.
Gil. The one before the last?
Clem. Yes.
Marg. And what's the last going to be?
Clem. Yours, my love. [Draws an advanced copy from his pocket.] I wheedled an advance copy from Künigel to bring to you, or, rather, to both of us. [Margaret and Gilbert exchange scared glances.]