Mankind has not changed. The civilized being still
hides the faun and the dryad within its broadcloth and its silk. And
yet"--[He stops, with a dried-up air-rather impatiently] Go on, my
dear! It helps the atmosphere.
[The voice of his WIFE begins again, gets as far as "made them
sing" and stops dead, just as the PROFESSOR's pen is beginning
to scratch. And suddenly, drawing the curtain further aside]
[SHE appears. Much younger than the PROFESSOR, pale, very
pretty, of a Botticellian type in face, figure, and in her
clinging cream-coloured frock. She gazes at her abstracted
husband; then swiftly moves to the lintel of the open window,
and stands looking out.]
THE WIFE. God! What beauty!
PROF. [Looking Up] Umm?
THE WIFE. I said: God! What beauty!
PROF. Aha!
THE WIFE. [Looking at him] Do you know that I have to repeat
everything to you nowadays?
PROF. What?
THE WIFE. That I have to repeat----
PROF. Yes; I heard. I'm sorry. I get absorbed.
THE WIFE. In all but me.
PROF. [Startled] My dear, your song was helping me like anything to
get the mood.
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