WIFE. [As if against her will—urged by some pent-up force] Beauty, beauty!
PROF. That's what I'm trying to say here. The Orpheus legend symbolizes to this day the call of Beauty! [He takes up his pen, while she continues to stare out at the moonlight. Yawning] Dash it! I get so sleepy; I wish you'd tell them to make the after-dinner coffee twice as strong.
WIFE. I will.
PROF. How does this strike you? [Conning] "Many Renaissance pictures, especially those of Botticelli, Francesca and Piero di Cosimo were inspired by such legends as that of Orpheus, and we owe a tiny gem—like Raphael 'Apollo and Marsyas' to the same Pagan inspiration."
WIFE. We owe it more than that—rebellion against the dry-as-dust.
PROF. Quite. I might develop that: "We owe it our revolt against the academic; or our disgust at 'big business,' and all the grossness of commercial success. We owe——". [His voice peters out.]
WIFE. It—love.
PROF. [Abstracted] Eh!
WIFE. I said: We owe it love.
PROF. [Rather startled] Possibly. But—er [With a dry smile]
I mustn't say that here—hardly!