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.

     [Fleetway melts out and Toone is precipitated.]

Mr Toone, I was very pleased with your Professor—­quite a character-study. [Toone bows and murmurs] Yes, sir!  I thought it fine. [His eye grows bald] Who plays the goat?

Miss HOPK. [Appearing suddenly between the windows] I play the faun, Mr Frost.

Foreson. [Introducing] Miss Maude ’Opkins.

Frust. Miss Hopkins, I guess your fawn was fine.

Miss HOPK.  Oh!  Thank you, Mr Frost.  How nice of you to say so.  I do so enjoy playing him.

Frust. [His eye growing bald] Mr Foreson, I thought the way you fixed that tree was very cunning; I certainly did.  Got a match?

     [He takes a match from Foreson, and lighting a very long cigar,
     walks up Stage through the French windows followed by Foreson,
     and examines the apple-tree.]