‘Why do you think I told you about the portrait? I’d not seen it, of course, but I’d seen Miss Mary just before she got married, which is when it was painted. But the whole set of some three or four shelves were of wood. She hated tricking Shari, whose joy for life was the only thing that made her naive enough to fall for laced iced tea or hot cocoa, depending on the season. She spoke with an entirely false note of cheerful offhandedness. The mother, Cathy Beck, was as patient and as charitable of an individual that Lucy had ever known, a big kindly Polish-American woman with the heart of an angel. As he turned the handle, it moved, and the door was taken from his hand and pulled outward by the young footman. And now I find, when it is too late, that I might have deserved you—that I am as well born as Thames Darrell. She was pleased and a little flattered by his interest and sympathy. At the back of her mind there seemed always one irrelevant qualifying spectator whose presence she sought to disregard.
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