Got any bacon?
JANET. No, but I can cook a slice in a minute.
CARVE. (With an affectation of martyrdom.) Doesn't matter.
JANET. Oh yes, I will. (Moving away.)
CARVE. (Drawing her to him by her apron.) Can't you see he's teasing
you?
JANET. She's got no time in the morning for being teased.
(She takes a cigarette, lights it and immediately puts it in his
mouth.)
CARVE. And now you're going to leave me?
JANET. Sure you're all right? (He nods.) Quite sure you're happy?
CARVE. Jane--
JANET. I wish you wouldn't call me Jane.
CARVE. But I will call you Jane. Jane, why do you ask me if I'm sure I'm
happy? When a man has first-class food and first-class love, together
with a genuine French bed, really waterproof boots, a constant supply of
hot water in the bathroom, enough money to buy cigarettes and sixpenny
editions, the freedom to do what he likes all day and every
day--and--let me see, what else--a complete absence of domestic
servants--then either that man is happy or he is a silly cuckoo!
JANET.
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