DOROTHY. Oh, Philip, you’re so depressing. I wanted us to have such a happy life. Don’t you want children? They can play in the Luxembourg and roll hoops and sail boats.

PHILIP. And you can show them on a map. You know; on a globe even. “Children”; we’ll call the boy Derek, worst name I know. You can say, “Derek. That’s the Wangpoo. Now follow my finger and I’ll show you where Daddy is.” And Derek will say, “Yes, Mummy. Have I ever seen Daddy?”

DOROTHY. Oh, no. It won’t be like that. We’ll just live somewhere where it’s lovely and you’ll write.

PHILIP. What?

DOROTHY. Whatever you like. Novels and articles and a book on this war perhaps.

PHILIP. Be a pretty book. Might make it with—with—you know—illustrations.

DOROTHY. Or you could study and write a book on politics. Books on politics sell forever, some one told me.

PHILIP. [Ringing the bell] I imagine.

DOROTHY. You could study and write a book on dialectics. There’s always a market for a new book on dialectics.

PHILIP. Really?

DOROTHY. But, darling Philip, the first thing is for you to start here now and do something worth doing and stop this absolutely utter playboy business.

PHILIP. I read it in a book, but I never really knew about it. Is it true that the first thing an American woman does is try to get the man she’s interested in to give up something? You know, boozing about, or smoking Virginia cigarettes, or wearing gaiters, or hunting, or something silly?

DOROTHY. No, Philip. It’s that you’re a very serious problem for any woman.

PHILIP. I hope so.

DOROTHY. And I don’t want you to give up something. I want you to take up something.

PHILIP. Good.

[He kisses her]

I will. Now have some breakfast. I have to go back and make a few phone calls.

DOROTHY. Philip, don’t go.

PHILIP. I’ll be back in just a moment, darling. And I’ll be so serious.

DOROTHY. You know what you said?

PHILIP. Of course.

DOROTHY. [Very happily] You said Darling.

PHILIP. I knew it was infectious but I never knew it was contagious. Forgive me, dear.

DOROTHY. Dear is a nice word, too.

PHILIP. Good-bye then—er—sweet.

DOROTHY. Sweet, oh you darling.

PHILIP. Good-bye, Comrade.

DOROTHY. Comrade. Oh, and you said darling before.

PHILIP. Comrade’s quite a word. I suppose I oughtn’t to chuck it around. I take it back.

DOROTHY. [Rapturously] Oh, Philip. You’re developing politically.

PHILIP. God—er, oh you know, whatever it is, save us.

DOROTHY. Don’t blaspheme. It’s frightfully bad luck.

PHILIP. [Hurriedly and rather grimly] Good-bye, darling dear sweet.

DOROTHY. You don’t call me comrade.

PHILIP. [Going out] No. You see I’m developing politically.

[He goes into the next room]