MARTIN. Lay off that New Yorker stuff.
TIPPY. Sensitive?
MARTIN. Don't be an ass. It's unimportant, that's all.
TIPPY. Eighty dollars--unimportant?
MARTIN. [Lays aside drawing, removes eyeshade and rises.] You've got me wrong if you think I've any qualms about a reunion with our blissfully-wed bourgeois comrades. Where I doubt your horse sense is in inviting Kate.
TIPPY. You can't ask a bride to attend a stag party with four men!
MARTIN. I could have dug up some other female as a shock-absorber.
TIPPY. Listen, son: a man can be a revolutionist and still mix socially with the White Guard. But a female revolutionist must either assassinate them or seduce them.
MARTIN. [Good-naturedly.] Go to hell.
TIPPY. I invited Kate because she is Laura's friend.