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:

MY DEAR MAE ALYS:--

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