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 body of a girl with bare arms and feet, her dark hair unbound, and the face of the professor’s wife.  Hypnotized, she slowly sways towards him, their eyes fixed on each other, till she is quite close.  Her arms go out to him, cling round his neck and, their lips meet.  But as they meet there comes a gasp and the professor with rumpled hair is seen starting from his chair, his hands thrown up; and at his horrified “Oh!” the Stage is darkened with a black-out.]

     [The voice of Frust is heard speaking.]

Frust. Gee!

The Stage is lighted up again, as in the opening scene.  The professor is seen in his chair, with spilt sheets of paper round him, waking from a dream.  He shakes himself, pinches his leg, stares heavily round into the moonlight, rises.

Prof.  Phew!  Beastly dream!  Boof!  H’m! [He moves to the window and calls.] Blanche!  Blanche! [To himself] Made trees-made trees! [Calling] Blanche!