But he has been dead many years. The rest, except the
Archbishop, look at one another quickly.
CONFUCIUS. May I ask how many years?
MRS LUTESTRING [_struck by his tone, looks at him for a moment with some
displeasure; then replies_] It does not matter. A long time.
BURGE-LUBIN. You mustnt rush to conclusions about the Archbishop, Mrs
Lutestring. He is an older bird than you think. Older than you, at all
events.
MRS LUTESTRING [_with a melancholy smile_] I think not, Mr President.
But the subject is a delicate one. I had rather not pursue it.
CONFUCIUS. There is a question which has not been asked.
MRS LUTESTRING [_very decisively_] If it is a question about my age, Mr
Chief Secretary, it had better not be asked. All that concerns you about
my personal affairs can be found in the books of the Accountant General.
CONFUCIUS. The question I was thinking of will not be addressed to you.
But let me say that your sensitiveness on the point is very strange,
coming from a woman so superior to all common weaknesses as we know you
to be.
MRS LUTESTRING.
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