DOROTHY. [Rings forPETRA. Speaks to her. Leaning back comfortably in bed against the pillows] Oh, Petra, he’s so lovely and so sort of vital and so gay. But he doesn’t do anything. He’s supposed to send dispatches to some stupid London paper, but they say at Censura he practically never sends anything. He’s so refreshing after Preston always going on about his wife and children. Let him go back to his wife and children now if he’s so excited about them. I’ll bet he won’t. Those wife-and-children men at a war. They just use them as sort of an opening wedge to get into bed with some one and then immediately afterwards they club you with them. I mean positively club you. I don’t know why I ever put up with Preston so long. And he’s so gloomy. Expecting the city to fall and everything and always looking at the map. Always looking at a map is one of the most irritating habits a man can get into. Isn’t it, Petra?

PETRA. I don’t understand, Señorita.

DOROTHY. Oh, Petra, I wonder what he’s doing now.

PETRA. Nothing good.

DOROTHY. Petra, don’t talk that way. You’re a defeatist.

PETRA. No, Señorita, I have no politics. I only work.

DOROTHY. Well, you can go now because I think I’ll go back to sleep for just a little while longer. I feel so sleepy and good this morning.

PETRA. That you rest well, Señorita.

[She goes out closing the door]

[In the next room PHILIP answers the phone]

PHILIP. Yes. Right. Send him up.

[There is a knock on the door and a COMRADE in I.B. uniform enters. He salutes smartly. He is a young, goodlooking, dark boy of perhaps twenty-three]

Salud, Comrade. Come in.

COMRADE. They sent me here from Brigade. I was to report to you in room one thirteen.

PHILIP. The room’s changed. Do you have a copy of the order?

COMRADE. It was a verbal order.

[PHILIP takes the phone; asks for a number]

PHILIP. Ochenta—dos zero uno cinco. Hello Haddock? No. Haddock. Hake speaking. Yes, Hake. Good. Haddock?

[He turns to the COMRADE]

What’s your name, Comrade?

COMRADE. Wilkinson.

PHILIP. Hello, Haddock. Sent a Comrade Wilkinson over to the Booth Fisheries? Right. Thanks so much. Salud.

[Hooks up the telephone. He turns to the COMRADE and puts out his hand]

I’m glad to see you, Comrade. Now what was it?

COMRADE. I’m under your orders.

PHILIP. Oh.

[He seems very reluctant, about something]

How old are you, Comrade?

COMRADE. Twenty.

PHILIP. Had much fun?

COMRADE. I’m not in this for fun.

PHILIP. No. Of course not. Was just a question.

[He pauses. Then goes on abandoning the reluctance; he speaks in a very military way]