(The fawn pirouettes nearer, indicating a desire to dance with it, whereupon the cat retreats into a corner under the organ).
The Fawn. Ky-ey-ey! You silly dolt! (Kicks and spins away).
The Organist (noticing the spit-fire attitude of the cat). He seems to see something. What the deuce has got into him, now? I wonder whether cats do see anything when they act like that. (He drifts into a frail dance harmony, yielding to the seduction of it and closing his eyes).
The Boy Lover. Wonderful! So delicately gay and sad! It’s just like flowers blooming in the night, isn’t it? (His sweetheart squeezes his hand and moves closer).
Six Hama-dryads (sweeping in from the trees and circling about, wreath-wise under the groined arches of the ceiling. They are a pale, ethereal company, suiting their movements to the melody and its variations).
Arch of church or arch of trees,
Built of stone or built of air,
Spirits floating on a breeze,
Dancing gayly anywhere.
Out of lilac, out of oak,