"Bless your heart!" P. Sybarite interjected privately.
The voice of the younger Shaynon broke with passion.
"This is—the limit!" he cried violently. "I've reached the end of my endurance. Who's this creature you're with?"
"Is your memory so short?" P. Sybarite asked quietly. "Have you forgotten the microbe?—the little guy who puts the point in disappointment?"
"I've forgotten nothing, you—animal! Nor that you insulted my father publicly only a few minutes ago, you—"
"That is something that takes a bit of doing, too!" affirmed P. Sybarite with a nod.
"And I want to inform you, sir," Shaynon raged, "that you've gone too far by much. I insist that you remove your mask and tell me your name."
"And if I refuse?" said the little man coolly.
"If you refuse—or if you persist in this insolent attitude, sir!—I—I'll—"
"What? In the name of brevity, make up your mind and give it a name, man!"