WIFE. [Avoiding him--an a stilly voice] Oh! Go on with your writing! PROF. I'm--I'm upset. I've never known you so--so---- WIFE. Hysterical? Well! It's over. I'll go and sing. PROF. [Soothingly] There, there! I'm sorry, darling; I really am. You're kipped--you're kipped. [He gives and she accepts a kiss] Better? [He gravitates towards his papers.] All right, now? WIFE. [Standing still and looking at him] Quite! PROF. Well, I'll try and finish this to-night; then, to-morrow we might have a jaunt. How about a theatre? There's a thing--they say --called "Chinese Chops," that's been running years. WIFE. [Softly to herself as he settles down into his chair] Oh! God! [While he takes up a sheet of paper and adjusts himself, she stands at the window staring with all her might at the boulder, till from behind it the faun's head and shoulders emerge once more.] PROF. Very queer the power suggestion has over the mind. Very queer! There's nothing really in animism, you know, except the curious shapes rocks, trees and things take in certain lights--effect they have on our imagination. [He looks up] What's the matter now? WIFE. [Startled] Nothing! Nothing! [Her eyes waver to him again, and the FAUN vanishes. She turns again to look at the boulder; there is nothing there; a little shiver of wind blows some petals off the trees. She catches one of them, and turning quickly, goes out through the curtain.] PROF. [Coming to himself and writing] "The Orpheus legend is the-- er--apotheosis of animism. Can we accept----" [His voice is lost in the sound of his WIFE'S voice beginning again: "Orpheus with his lute--with his lute made trees----" It dies in a sob. The PROFESSOR looks up startled, as the curtain falls]. FRUST. Fine! Fine! VANE. Take up the curtain. Mr Foreson? [The curtain goes up.] FORESON. Sir? VANE. Everybody on. [He and FRUST leave their seats and ascend on to the Stage, on which are collecting the four Players.] VANE. Give us some light. FORESON. Electrics! Turn up your floats! [The footlights go up, and the blue goes out; the light is crude as at the beginning.] FRUST. I'd like to meet Miss Hellgrove. [She comes forward eagerly and timidly. He grasps her hand] Miss Hellgrove, I want to say I thought that fine--fine. [Her evident emotion and pleasure warm him so that he increases his grasp and commendation] Fine. It quite got my soft spots. Emotional. Fine! MISS H. Oh! Mr Frust; it means so much to me. Thank you! FRUST. [A little balder in the eye, and losing warmth] Er--fine! [His eye wanders] Where's Mr Flatway? VANE. Fleetway. [FLEETWAY comes up.] FRUST. Mr Fleetway, I want to say I thought your Orphoos very remarkable. Fine. FLEETWAY. Thank you, sir, indeed--so glad you liked it. FRUST. [A little balder in the eye] There wasn't much to it, but what there was was fine. Mr Toone.