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Updated: May 22, 2025
"I am sure you understand how impossible it is for me to release Miss Verity from her promise," he said courteously. "Would you willingly do so yourselves, were the positions reversed and either of you happy enough to stand in my shoes at this moment?" Titherage gave a fat good-tempered laugh. "By George, you have me there, Colonel. Under such A1 circumstances catch me making way for a stranger!
Titherage shot out his right shirt cuff, and pointed a stout forefinger at certain hieroglyphics inscribed on its glossy surface. "Your name, Miss Verity, and written with an indelible pencil, to the permanent embellishment of my best party-going linen and witness to your infidelity."
And then I suppose I got above myself as poor Nannie used to say and came to care for the rushing about just for its own sake" "My dance, I believe, Miss Verity." The speaker, Mr. Alban Titherage well-groomed, rosy and self-complacent pulled down the fronts of his white waistcoat.
Alban Titherage a fat, smart and very forthcoming young London stock-broker, lately established, in company of a pretty, silly, phthisis-stricken wife, at the Grand Hotel. Very much mistress of herself, Damaris had danced straight through the programme with an air of almost defiant vivacity. Now, as it seemed, her mood had changed and sobered.
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