[_He is silent for a while. Suddenly he lifts his head._

My room at Eton, d.i.c.k said. An untidy mess.

[_As he lifts his head and says these words, twilight gives place to broad daylight, merely as a hint that the author of the play may have been mistaken, and the whole thing may have been no more than a poet's dream._

So it was, and it's an untidy mess there (_looking at screen_) too.

d.i.c.k's right. I'll tidy it up. I'll burn the whole d.a.m.ned heap,

[_He advances impetuously towards the screen._

every d.a.m.ned poem that I was ever fool enough to waste my time on.

[_He pushes back the screen._ FAME _in a Greek dress with a long golden trumpet in her hand is seen standing motionless on the altar like a marble G.o.ddess._

So ... you have come!

[_For a while he stands thunderstruck. Then he approaches the altar._

Divine fair lady, you have come.

[_He holds up his hand to her and leads her down from the altar and into the centre of the stage. At whatever moment the actor finds it most convenient, he repossesses himself of the sonnet that he had placed on the altar. He now offers it to_ FAME.

This is my sonnet. Is it well done?

[FAME _takes it and reads it in silence, while the_ POET _watches her rapturously._

FAME: You're a bit of all right.

DE REVES: What?

FAME: Some poet.

DE REVES: I--I--scarcely ... understand.

FAME: You're IT.

DE REVES: But ... it is not possible ... are you she that knew Homer?

FAME: Homer? Lord, yes. Blind old bat, 'e couldn't see a yard.

DE REVES: O Heavens!

[FAME _walks beautifully to the window. She opens it and puts her head out._

FAME (_in a voice with which a woman in an upper storey would cry for help if the house was well alight_): Hi! Hi! Boys! Hi! Say, folks! Hi!

[_The murmur of a gathering crowd is heard._ FAME _blows her trumpet._

FAME: Hi, he's a poet! (_Quickly, over her shoulder._) What's your name?

DE REVES: De Reves.

FAME: His name's de Reves.

DE REVES: Harry de Reves.

FAME: His pals call him Harry.

THE CROWD: Hooray! Hooray! Hooray!

FAME: Say, what's your favourite colour?

DE REVES: I ... I ... I don't quite understand.

FAME: Well, which do you like best, green or blue?

DE REVES: Oh--er--blue.

[_She blows her trumpet out of the window._

No--er--I think green.

FAME: Green is his favourite colour.

THE CROWD: Hooray! Hooray! Hooray!

FAME: 'Ere, tell us something. They want to know all about yer.

DE REVES: Wouldn't[9] you perhaps ... would they care to hear my sonnet, if you would--er ...

FAME (_picking up quill_): Here, what's this?

DE REVES: Oh, that's my pen.

FAME (_after another blast on her trumpet_): He writes with a quill.

[_Cheers from the_ CROWD.

FAME (_going to a cupboard_): Here, what have you got in here?

DE REVES: Oh ... er ... those are my breakfast things.

FAME (_finding a dirty plate_): What have yer had on this one?

DE REVES (_mournfully_): Oh, eggs and bacon.

FAME (_at the window_): He has eggs and bacon for breakfast.