Margaret. He was an interesting man for all that ... yes. And besides—he was fearfully jealous of you.
Clement. So I thought I noticed. (Pause.)
Margaret. Oh, they were all jealous of you. Naturally ... you were so different. And then they all paid court to me, just because they were all quite indifferent to me. You must have noticed that, too, didn't you? What are you laughing at?
Clement. It's comical ... If any one had prophesied to me that I should marry one of the crowd at the Café Maximilian! The ones I liked best were the two young painters—they were really just as if they'd stepped out of a farce at the theatre. You know, those two that looked so much alike, and shared everything together—I fancy even the Russian girl on the step-ladder.
Margaret. I never troubled my head about such things.
Clement. Those two must have been Jews, weren't they?
Margaret. What makes you think so?
Clement. Oh ... because they were always cutting jokes—and then their pronunciation ...
Margaret. I think you might dispense with anti-Semitic remarks.
Clement. Come, child, don't be so sensitive. I know you're half-Jewish. And really, you know, I've nothing against the Jews. I even had an instructor once, who put me through my Greek for my final exam. He was a Jew, if you like—and a splendid fellow. One meets all kinds of people ... And I'm not sorry to have had a chance to see your Munich circle—it's all a bit of experience.—But, you admit, I must have appeared to you as a kind of life-saver.