The Director’s threats had actually elated him, made him feel larger than life.
And because they were polite, Bernard felt positively gigantic–gigantic and at the same time light with elation, lighter than air.
For Bernard left the room with a swagger, exulting, as he banged the door behind him, in the thought that he stood alone, embattled against the order of things; elated by the intoxicating consciousness of his individual significance and importance.
Obediently, but unsmiling and (wholly insensible of the honour done to her) without elation, Lenina walked after him, out of the room.
An emblem of the inner tide of startled elation, the blood rushed up into Lenina’s cheeks.