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Updated: June 15, 2025
In the short space of four years a crowd of companies, every one of which confidently held out to subscribers the hope of immense gains, sprang into existence; the Insurance Company, the Paper Company, the Lutestring Company, the Pearl Fishery Company, the Glass Bottle Company, the Alum Company, the Blythe Coal Company, the Swordblade Company.
At first he sat still, but as the time passed he endeavoured to distract his anxious thoughts by walking round the room looking at the extraordinary collections of objects it contained. He was earnestly scrutinizing a lutestring picture depicting "The Origin of the Dimple" a cupid poking his forefinger into the double chin of a fat languishing female when the door opened and a woman entered.
THE ARCHBISHOP. There is not time for that before we are married, Mr Accountant General. Be good enough to get out of the lady's way. BARNABAS. There is time to send the lady to the lethal chamber before anything comes of your marriage. Dont forget that. MRS LUTESTRING. What nonsense, Mr Accountant General! Good afternoon, Mr President. THE ARCHBISHOP. I am surprised at you, Mr Barnabas.
I have been very lonely sometimes. If I may say so, a lady of your attractions need never have been lonely. MRS LUTESTRING. Why? BURGE-LUBIN. Why! THE ARCHBISHOP. He means that you might have married. Curious, how little they understand our position. MRS LUTESTRING. I did marry. I married again on my hundred and first birthday. But of course I had to marry an elderly man: a man over sixty.
Do you know that yonder, in Monument Yard, they were all at my poor little Blessing for her money? There was Tom Lutestring; there was Mr. Draper, your precious lawyer; there was actually Mr. Tubbs, of Bethesda Chapel; and they must all come buzzing like flies round the honey-pot. That is why we came out of the quarter where my brother-tradesmen live."
And, in a few moments, she held in her hand a written scroll that he let down to her by a lutestring weighted with a scrap of wood. She had neither light nor fire, and the night was moonless. So she called up "Dark!" and immediately added, as he had done: "Look out." She then tied to the string the two best roses of those Pulcheria had brought her, and at her glad "Now!" they floated up.
THE ARCHBISHOP. They found it out. The cinema records betrayed me. But I never dreamt that there were others. Did you? MRS LUTESTRING. I knew one other. She was a cook. She grew tired, and killed herself. THE ARCHBISHOP. Dear me! However, her death simplifies the situation, as I have been able to convince these gentlemen that the matter had better go no further. MRS LUTESTRING. What!
I directed my mantua-maker to let my dress be elegant, but plain as I could possibly appear with decency. Accordingly, it is white lutestring, covered and full-trimmed with white crape, festooned with lilac ribbon and mock point-lace, over a hoop of enormous size.
MRS LUTESTRING. I often opened a door for the person you have just reminded me of. But he has been dead many years. The rest, except the Archbishop, look at one another quickly. CONFUCIUS. May I ask how many years? 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.
She wore a purple calico dress, rather short and scant; a gingham apron, with a capacious pocket, in which she always carried knitting or some other "handy work"; a white handkerchief was laid primly around the wrinkled throat and fastened with a pin containing a lock of gray hair; her cap was of black lace and lutestring ribbon, not one of the butterfly affairs that perch on the top of the puffs and frizzes of the modern old lady, but a substantial structure that covered her whole head and was tied securely under her chin.
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