[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! WIFE's VOICE. Yes. PROF. Where are you? WIFE. [Appearing by the stone with her hair down] Here! PROF. I say--I---I've been asleep--had a dream. Come in. I'll tell you. [She comes, and they stand in the window.] PROF. I dreamed I saw a-faun on that boulder blowing on a pipe. [He looks nervously at the stone] With two damned little rabbits and a fox sitting up and listening. And then from out there came our friend Orpheus playing on his confounded lute, till he actually turned that tree there into you. And gradually he-he drew you like a snake till you--er--put your arms round his neck and--er--kissed him. Boof! I woke up. Most unpleasant. Why! Your hair's down! WIFE. Yes. PROF. Why? WIFE. It was no dream. He was bringing me to life. PROF. What on earth? WIFE. Do you suppose I am alive? I'm as dead as Euridice. PROF. Good heavens, Blanche, what's the matter with you to-night? WIFE. [Pointing to the litter of papers] Why don't we live, instead of writing of it? [She points out unto the moonlight] What do we get out of life? Money, fame, fashion, talk, learning? Yes. And what good are they? I want to live! PROF. [Helplessly] My dear, I really don't know what you mean. WIFE. [Pointing out into the moonlight] Look! Orpheus with his lute, and nobody can see him. Beauty, beauty, beauty--we let it go. [With sudden passion] Beauty, love, the spring. They should be in us, and they're all outside. PROF. My dear, this is--this is--awful. [He tries to embrace her.]