Clement. Oh, she's seen Badegast too!
Margaret. To be sure—didn't Butters give him a gallop this morning after Busserl?
Clement. But Butters doesn't ride for Szigrati. That must have been a stable-boy. Well, anyhow, Badegast may look as splendid as you like, it makes no difference—he's no good. Ah, Margaret, with your brains you'll soon learn to distinguish real greatness from false. It's really incredible, the quickness with which you've already—what shall I say?—initiated yourself into all these things—it surpasses my boldest expectations.
Margaret (annoyed). Why does it surpass your expectations? You know very well that all these things are not so new to me. Some very good people used to visit my parents' house—Count Libowski and various others; and also at my husband's ...
Clement. Oh, of course—I know ... At bottom I've really got nothing against the cotton business.
Margaret. What has it to do with my personal views that my husband had a cotton factory? I always continued my education in my own fashion. But let's not talk any further about those days—they're far enough away, thank God!
Clement. But there are others that are nearer.
Margaret. To be sure. But what does that mean?
Clement. Oh, I only mean that in your Munich surroundings you can't have heard much of sporting matters, as far as I am able to judge.
Margaret. I wish you'd stop reproaching me with the surroundings in which you learned to know me.