Margaret (retreats quickly from him). Go—go! No... no ... go, I tell you! You know I don't love you any more.
Gilbert. Oh, ... h'm ... Really? Well, then I can only beg your pardon. (Pause.) Good-by, Margaret ... good-by.
Margaret. Good-by.
Gilbert. Good-by ... (Turns back once more.) Won't you at least, as a parting gift, let me have a copy of your novel? I gave you mine.
Margaret. It isn't out yet—it won't be till next week.
Gilbert. If you don't mind telling me ... what sort of a story is it?
Margaret. It is the story of my life—of course disguised, so that no one can recognize me.
Gilbert. Oh ...? How did you manage that?
Margaret. It was quite simple. The heroine, to begin with, is not a writer but a painter ...
Gilbert. Very clever of you.