Beggar’s Choice

Beggar’s Choice by Patricia Wentworth

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Authors: Patricia Wentworth
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“I’ve been out.”
    She kept her shoulder turned to Corinna Lee.
    â€œCome and have tea with me,” she said.
    He thought she must have heard Corinna’s invitation.
    He said, “Thank you—I’m afraid I can’t.” And then, “This is a friend of Peter’s—Miss Lee. Miss Lee——” He hesitated for a moment. Fay’s shoulder was a barrier. “Miss Fay Everitt.”
    And then he had a doubt. Fay called herself Miss Everitt. She had never called herself Mrs. Lymington. But all the same——
    If she acknowledged his introduction at all, it was with the very slightest movement of her head. She neither turned towards Corinna Lee nor looked at her. She looked at Car, and standing on the bottom step, opened her scarlet bag and extracted from it mirror and lipstick.
    â€œCome and have tea with me, Car.”
    â€œI’m afraid I’m engaged.”
    She transferred her attention to the mirror, ran the lipstick over the painted curves of her mouth, and then very deliberately looked him up and down. Without a spoken word Car understood just how shabby he looked, and how impossible as an escort except by the indulgence of old friendship. Mirror and lipstick went back into the bag. Fay passed carelessly out. The tapping of her heels died away.
    â€œ Well !” said Miss Corinna Lee.
    Car did not know what to say. Fay wanted shaking. If this pretty creature was a friend of Peter’s, things were going to be awkward. If they were great friends, she probably knew about Peter’s marriage. Perhaps he ought to have introduced Fay as Mrs. Lymington. He had never been able to see why there should be any secrecy. Well, it wasn’t his business.
    By the time he reached this conclusion he was walking down the street with Miss Lee, and she was telling him how polite English railway porters were (was there a spice of malice here?) and how surprised she was to see London bathed in sunshine and with a blue sky overhead.
    â€œI thought there would be a fog. Now you’re not going to tell me that London fogs are a myth?”
    â€œWe have them.”
    â€œNow that’s a great relief! Will there be one tomorrow?”
    â€œI don’t know. I hope not.”
    â€œYou hope not. But I want to see a fog!”
    Car laughed at her.
    â€œDo you get everything you want?”
    She looked as if she did. There was something of the unspoilt darling child about her. She looked as if she had sunshine and love always. Perhaps she wanted a fog for a change.
    â€œMost of the time,” she said, and cocked her chin at him. “I’ve wanted to meet you.”
    â€œThat’s very nice of you.”
    She went on as if he had not spoken.
    â€œBecause of Peter—and because of your name.”
    â€œFairfax?”
    She shook her head.
    â€œI’d have liked it to be the Fairfax part of your name, because that’s romantic and historical, but I can’t tell a lie any more than Washington could. It would be a pity if I hurt myself trying to—wouldn’t it?”
    â€œRather!”
    She looked at him with just a shade of anxiety in the round gray eyes.
    â€œI guess I sound real crazy. But I’m not—I’m trying to break it to you that I’m a cousin.”
    â€œIt would have to be broken very gently.”
    â€œI’m being as gentle as I can. You won’t fall right down in a faint, will you?”
    â€œI’ll do my best.”
    She stopped at a street corner and looked up at him.
    â€œWell then, your name’s Carthew, and it was your mother’s name—wasn’t it?”
    Car nodded.
    â€œAnd she came from a place called Linwood?”
    â€œShe did.”
    â€œAnd so did my grandmother,” said Corinna. Her eyes, her face, her voice all held a sort of quivering blend of earnestness and mischief.
    â€œHow topping!” said Car.
    â€œI’m glad Peter didn’t tell

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