IVY. Oh!
STRANGWAY. Orpheus drew everything after him with music; St.
Francis by love.
IVY. Perhaps it was the same, really.
STRANGWAY. [looking at his flute] Perhaps it was, Ivy.
GLADYS. Did 'e 'ave a flute like yu?
IVY. The flowers smell sweeter when they 'ear music; they du.
[She holds up the glass of flowers.]
STRANGWAY. [Touching one of the orchis] What's the name of this one?
[The girls cluster; save MERCY, who is taking a stealthy
interest in what she has behind her.]
CONNIE. We call it a cuckoo, Mr. Strangway.