CONFUCIUS.  You are brave:  yes.  It is a form of stupidity.

BURGE-LUBIN.  You may not be brave:  one doesn’t expect it from a Chink. 
But you have the devil’s own cheek.

CONFUCIUS.  I have the assured certainty of the man who sees and knows.  Your genial bluster, your cheery self-confidence, are pleasant, like the open air.  But they are blind:  they are vain.  I seem to see a great dog wag his tail and bark joyously.  But if he leaves my heel he is lost.

BURGE-LUBIN.  Thank you for a handsome compliment.  I have a big dog; and he is the best fellow I know.  If you knew how much uglier you are than a chow, you wouldn’t start those comparisons, though. [Rising] Well, if you have nothing for me to do, I am going to leave your heel for the rest of the day and enjoy myself.  What would you recommend me to do with myself?

CONFUCIUS.  Give yourself up to contemplation; and great thoughts will come to you.

BURGE-LUBIN.  Will they?  If you think I am going to sit here on a fine day like this with my legs crossed waiting for great thoughts, you exaggerate my taste for them.  I prefer marine golf. [Stopping short] Oh, by the way, I forgot something.  I have a word or two to say to the Minister of health. [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.

THE NEGRESS.  Stupid of me.  I was talking to another lady this morning; and I left the peg in.

BURGE-LUBIN.  But I am so sorry.

THE NEGRESS [sunnily:  still busy with the scarf] Why?  It was my fault.

BURGE-LUBIN [embarrassed] Well—­er—­But I suppose you were used to it in Africa.

THE NEGRESS.  Your delicacy is very touching, Mr President.  It would be funny if it were not so unpleasant, because, like all white delicacy, it is in the wrong place.  How do you think this suits my complexion?