teresting enough. But how a lady could feel at ease amongst
them for any length of time, is more than I can make out.
Mag.
You forget one thing, Clement dear, which is that in a
certain sense I belong from, or did belong to them.
Cle.
Now please, - -
Mag.
They were artist, men and women.
Cle.
Here we are back to the same old question.
Mag.
And it is my daily grief that you cannot understand.
Cle
"Not understand" - I like that - I can understand very well.
You know how uncomfortable your writing makes me, and that
it is a personal matter with me.
Mag.
Well, there are women who, in my position, would have done
worse than write pretty.
Cle.
But such pretty - such points.
(He takes a little book from the mantelpiece)
That's it. I assure you that whenover I see it lying here,
Whenever I think of it, I am alhamed that it was written by you.
Mag.
You see you have no literary insight— Don't be cross - If you