[Rather startled] Possibly. But--er [With a dry smile]
I mustn't say that here--hardly!

WIFE. [To herself and the moonlight] Orpheus with his lute!

PROF. Most people think a lute is a sort of flute. [Yawning
heavily] My dear, if you're not going to sing again, d'you mind
sitting down? I want to concentrate.

WIFE. I'm going out.

PROF. Mind the dew!

WIFE. The Christian virtues and the dew.

PROF. [With a little dry laugh] Not bad! Not bad! The Christian
virtues and the dew. [His hand takes up his pen, his face droops
over his paper, while his wife looks at him with a very strange face]
"How far we can trace the modern resurgence against the Christian
virtues to the symbolic figures of Orpheus, Pan, Apollo, and Bacchus
might be difficult to estimate, but----"

[During those words his WIFE has passed through the window into
the moonlight, and her voice rises, singing as she goes:
"Orpheus with his lute, with his lute made trees . . ."]

PROF. [Suddenly aware of something] She'll get her throat bad.
[He is silent as the voice swells in the distance] Sounds queer at
night-H'm! [He is silent--Yawning. The voice dies away. Suddenly
his head nods; he fights his drowsiness; writes a word or two, nods
again, and in twenty seconds is asleep.]

[The Stage is darkened by a black-out. FRUST's voice is heard
speaking.]

FRUST. What's that girl's name?

VANE. Vanessa Hellgrove.

FRUST. Aha!

[The Stage is lighted up again. Moonlight bright on the
orchard; the room in darkness where the PROFESSOR'S figure is
just visible sleeping in the chair, and screwed a little more
round towards the window. From behind the mossy boulder a
faun-like figure uncurls itself and peeps over with ears
standing up and elbows leaning on the stone, playing a rustic
pipe; and there are seen two rabbits and a fox sitting up and
listening. A shiver of wind passes, blowing petals from the
apple-trees.]

[The FAUN darts his head towards where, from Right, comes slowly
the figure of a Greek youth, holding a lute or lyre which his
fingers strike, lifting out little wandering strains as of wind
whinnying in funnels and odd corners. The FAUN darts down
behind the stone, and the youth stands by the boulder playing
his lute. Slowly while he plays the whitened trunk of an
apple-tree is seen, to dissolve into the