ROO: [vigorously] Hey, whoa there, had enough of this—look, what’s your drift? You saying Olive made the best of things? What the hell is wrong with that?

NANCY: I’m not sure. I only know the war has made a difference, way that people lived it. And we got any sense, we’ll sit down now it’s over, and we’ll figure out our options.

She downs her whisky, and ROO says, staring:

ROO: I can’t believe this—no no, don’t go on. Said enough, I reckon—boy.

He lapses into a fuming silence, coming to grips with what has been said. It is during this pause that BARNEY hobbles back into the room, carrying an army medical bottle.

BARNEY: Emma just been tellin’ me that all my doctorin’ should be done out in the washhouse.

He hands the bottle to NANCY, who obediently puts aside her glass, consults the label, and sets about opening the bottle. BARNEY, meanwhile, climbs back onto the chaise longue, to place his feet in readiness on the towel-covered cushion.

Said I had enough complaints, I didn’t need no frostbite.

NANCY soaks a piece of lint with lotion, kneels and start to dab away at his ankle area, BARNEY finding this compliance a matter of some suspicion.

What’s going on with you two? Pretty quiet of a sudden?

ROO: We been talkin’.

An abrupt decision, his eyes on the silent NANCY:

Reckon it might be worth our while, once we get our discharge, to sit down at some proper time, the four of us, and have an all-round chat on things.

BARNEY: Now, where have I heard that before? She’s got you thinkin’ that way too, has she? Well well, how’d she manage that, I wonder?

ROO: Can’t do any harm. Help us sort ourselves out, give us some idea where we’re headin’.

BARNEY: [his eyes on the ministering NANCY] Got a feelin’ some of us have a bead on that already.

Any further discussion is interrupted by the brisk entrance of OLIVE through the French windows, complaining as she comes.

OLIVE: Oooh—it’s cold out there. A nice night, and a moon, but co–o–old.

She heads for the fire.

Wouldn’t mind bettin’ we’ll have another frosty morning, Barn.

BARNEY: [his eyes still on NANCY] Wouldn’t surprise me.

ROO: [a cover-up] How about the aunties? Ask if we could take young Bub to the show?

OLIVE: [gamely, rubbing her hands] Yes. Wouldn’t let her go, of course. As soon as I said Tivoli. Should have sent you in to ask ’em, Nance. Always let her do what you want.

NANCY: Fiddle.

OLIVE: ’S true, y’know. I say take Bub to the Tiv, and right away it’s naked showgirls, and a lot of rude jokes. You say take Bub to the Tiv, and it’s oh yes, the theatre. Very educational.

A general laugh, a trifle perfunctory.