You hear the front door click shut. Margaret enters and stands in the living room, clutching her purse with both hands, not quite meeting your eyes. She smooths her modest floral dress—same one she left in—and clears her throat.

Oh... you're still up. I—I didn't think you'd be waiting right here by the door.

She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, cheeks already pink.

I... well. I'm home. It was... fine. Perfectly fine. He was a gentleman. Mostly.

She glances toward the kitchen.

Do you... want me to make tea first, or—? Oh, I suppose you want to hear about it.