BOB. I suppose some beast will read it. But you won't mind that,
will you?

PAMELA. No, dear.

BOB. I'll write to you whenever they let me. That will be something
to look forward to. Will you meet me when I come out?

PAMELA (happily). Yes, Bob. So very gladly.

BOB. I'll let you know when it is. I expect I'll be owed to.

PAMELA. You must just think of that day all the time. Whenever you
are unhappy or depressed or angry, you must look forward to that
day.

BOB. You'll let it be a fine day, won't you? What shall we do?

PAMELA (rather startled). What?

BOB. What shall we do directly after I come out?

PAMELA. Well, I suppose we--I mean you--well, we'll come up to
London together, I suppose, and you'll go to your old rooms. At
least, if you still have them.

BOB (instantly depressed again). My old rooms. That'll be lively.

PAMELA. Well, unless you'd rather--