[_He goes back to his chair_].
CONFUCIUS. Her number is--
BURGE-LUBIN. I know it.
CONFUCIUS [_rising_] I cannot understand her attraction for you. For me
a woman who is not yellow does not exist, save as an official. [_He goes
out_].
_Burge-Lubin operates his switchboard as before. The screen vanishes:
and a dainty room with a bed, a wardrobe, and a dressing-table with a
mirror and a switch on it, appears. Seated at it a handsome negress is
trying on a brilliant head scarf. Her dressing-gown is thrown back
from her shoulders to her chair. She is in corset, knickers, and silk
stockings._
BURGE-LUBIN [_horrified_] I beg your pardon a thousand times--[_The
startled negress snatches the peg out of her switchboard and vanishes_].
THE NEGRESS'S VOICE. Who is it?
BURGE-LUBIN. Me. The President. Burge-Lubin. I had no idea your bedroom
switch was in. I beg your pardon.
_The negress reappears. She has pulled the dressing-gown perfunctorily
over her shoulders, and continues her experiments with the scarf, not at
all put out, and rather amused by Surge's prudery.
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