Snippet #2441935

He hesitated, unused to accepting a hand up from anybody other than a sparring partner, let alone beautifully dressed women of indeterminate middle age, but manners were second nature at this juncture and he instinctively knew it would be rude not to accept. He grasped the offered hand and came to his feet, examining the woman's eyes as he spoke.

"I am no worse for wear, my dear lady, and you needn't trouble your conscience with it. I am Philius Percival Wolfinson. Whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?"

There was unmistakable interest in his eyes and though there was an element of physical attraction (being suddenly assaulted by the presence of two such comely women in quick succession can have that effect), the majority of it was pure curiosity. His hand remained holding hers as he gave a slight bow.