The colour deepened in P. Sybarite's cheeks, and instantaneous
pin-pricks of fire enlivened his long-suffering eyes. But again he
said nothing. And since his eyes were downcast, George was unaware of
their fitful incandescence.
Puffing vigorously at his cigarette, he rocked back and forth on the
hind legs of his chair and crowed in jubilation: "Perceval! O you
great, big, beautiful Perc'!"
P. Sybarite made a motion as if to tear the note across, hesitated,
and reconsidered. Through a long minute he sat thoughtfully examining
the tickets presented him by his aff'te cousin.
In his ears rang the hideous tumult of George's joy:
"_Per-ce-val!_"
Drawing to him one of the Whigham & Wimper letterheads, P. Sybarite
dipped a pen, considered briefly, and wrote rapidly and freely in a
minute hand: