BURGE-LUBIN. Their marriage? CONFUCIUS. More than that. They have made the momentous discovery that they are not alone in the world. BURGE-LUBIN. You think there are others? CONFUCIUS. There must be many others. Each of them believes that he or she is the only one to whom the miracle has happened. But the Archbishop knows better now. He will advertise in terms which only the longlived people will understand. He will bring them together and organize them. They will hasten from all parts of the earth. They will become a great Power. BURGE-LUBIN [_a little alarmed_] I say, will they? I suppose they will. I wonder is Barnabas right after all? Ought we to allow it? CONFUCIUS. Nothing that we can do will stop it. We cannot in our souls really want to stop it: the vital force that has produced this change would paralyse our opposition to it, if we were mad enough to oppose. But we will not oppose. You and I may be of the elect, too. BURGE-LUBIN. Yes: thats what gets us every time. What the deuce ought we to do? Something must be done about it, you know. CONFUCIUS. Let us sit still, and meditate in silence on the vistas before us. BURGE-LUBIN. By George, I believe youre right. Let us. _They sit meditating, the Chinaman naturally, the President with visible effort and intensity. He is positively glaring into the future when the voice of the Negress is heard._ THE NEGRESS. Mr President. BURGE-LUBIN [_joyfully_] Yes. [_Taking up a peg_] Are you at home? THE NEGRESS. No. Omega, zero, x squared. _The President rapidly puts the peg in the switchboard; works the dial; and presses the button. The screen becomes transparent; and the Negress, brilliantly dressed, appears on what looks like the bridge of a steam yacht in glorious sea weather. The installation with which she is communicating is beside the binnacle._ CONFUCIUS [_looking round, and recoiling with a shriek of disgust_] Ach! Avaunt! Avaunt! [_He rushes from the room_]. BURGE-LUBIN. What part of the coast is that? THE NEGRESS. Fishguard Bay. Why not run over and join me for the afternoon? I am disposed to be approachable at last. BURGE-LUBIN. But Fishguard! Two hundred and seventy miles! THE NEGRESS. There is a lightning express on the Irish Air Service at half-past sixteen. They will drop you by a parachute in the bay. The dip will do you good. I will pick you up and dry you and give you a first-rate time. BURGE-LUBIN. Delightful. But a little risky, isnt it? THE NEGRESS. Risky! I thought you were afraid of nothing. BURGE-LUBIN. I am not exactly afraid; but-- THE NEGRESS [_offended_] But you think it is not good enough. Very well [_she raises her hand to take the peg out of her switchboard_]. BURGE-LUBIN [_imploringly_] No: stop: let me explain: hold the line just one moment. Oh, please. THE NEGRESS [_waiting with her hand poised over the peg_] Well?