TIPPY. Now what the hell? Where's she going?

MARTIN. You can't tell. She works irregular hours.

TIPPY. But she promised to be here for dinner. Isn't her soul her
own?

MARTIN. Hadn't you heard she'd sold it?

TIPPY. [_Glumly._] That's a hell of a note.--I hope Ted gets back
in time. I don't want my dinner party spoiled.

MARTIN. He'll be back.

TIPPY. He looked nifty in the new clothes, didn't he? Laura will
like them.

MARTIN. Let's hope she doesn't say too much about them.

TIPPY. She'll be too busy telling you what a fine husband she has.

MARTIN. And her husband will tell me what a fine job he has, and
all about the sweet spirit of loyalty that exists in that wonderful
corporation. [_Stops to light cigarette._] Jesus, Tippy, if
prosperity really does come back, life is going to be an awful bore
for us revolutionists.

[_There is a knock_, TIPPY _goes and lets_ KEN _and_ LAURA _in.
They are happy and gay and terribly in love. She can hardly keep
her hands from caressing him. She finds threads to flick off his