Every man has his price. You know mine. Pocketing false pride, I
accept your bounty with all the gratitude and humility becoming in
a poor relation. And if arrested for appearing in the box without
evening clothes, I promise solemnly to brazen it out, pretend that
I bought the tickets myself--or stole them--and keep the newspapers
ignorant of our kinship. Fear not--trust me--and enjoy the masque
as much as I mean to enjoy "Kismet."
And if you would do me the greatest of favours--should you ever
again find an excuse to write me on any matter, please address me
by the initial of my ridiculous first name only; it is of course
impossible for me to live down the deep damnation of having been
born a Sybarite; but the indulgence of my friends can save me the
further degradation of being known as Perceval.
With thanks renewed and profound, I remain, all things considered,
Remotely yours,