rage. One can't count on him. I cannot see what the out-
mne of this will be.
GILBERT: Ah, so he forbade you to write. He cannotingen
have his believed use her brain, so to speak. Oh, this is
kquisite - and that is the blood of the country! And you
re'nt you ashened to feel the same in the arms of such an
diot, you who once...
MARGARET: I forbid you to speak of him in that manner;
ou do not understand him.
GILBERT: Hun!
MARGARET: You don't know why he objects to my writing
nly because he loves me. He feel that I live in another
world, onestled to him - he is ashamed for me, that I
pread, breadcast, for anyone to know, the inner lmotions of
y soul; he wants me for himself alone; and that is why he
olted out - no, he did'nt bolt - Clemens is not the type of
an who bolts -
GILBERT: But he is gone, at any rate; we won't argue
about the tempe - and he has gone because he cannot tolerate
the fact that you give way to your creative impulee.
MARGARET: Oh, if he could only understand that... But
hat is evidently not to be. I could be the best, the trust,
the noblest wife in the world, if there only was such a
person as the right man in existence.