The Vision of Desire Part 11

"You didn't do badly, either," he said, challengingly. "You weren't bored to-night, were you?"

An odd little smile crossed her face.

"No, I wasn't bored," she answered quietly.

CHAPTER VII

A QUESTION OF ILLUSIONS

An air of suppressed excitement prevailed over Montricheux. It was the day when the pretty lakeside town celebrated the Fete des Narcisses, and from the smallest street urchin, grabbing a bunch of narcissi in his grubby little hand and trying to induce the good-natured foreigner to purchase his wares, to the usually stolid _hoteliers_, vying with each other as to which of their caravanserais should blaze out into the most arresting scheme of decoration on the great occasion, the whole population was aquiver with an almost child-like sense of antic.i.p.ation and delight. There was to be a procession of decorated cars and carriages, a battle of flowers, and attractions innumerable during the course of the day, followed in the evening by a Venetian fete on the waters of the bay.

Tony looked in at Villa Mon Reve shortly after breakfast.

"Taking any part in the proceedings?" he inquired conversationally.

Ann shook her head.

"We've had the car decorated in honour of the occasion," she replied. "But we're not competing for any prize. I expect we shall just drive about the town."

"Same here. Tour round, chucking flowers at unsuspecting people. It's a bore that you and I can't play about together," moodily. "But we've got a female relative of Uncle Philip's on our hands--a wealthy old cousin, name of 'Great Expectations,'" with a cheerful grin. "So I've got to trot her round and do the devoted nephew stunt all day."

"I hope you'll do it nicely"--smiling.

"I shall hear of it from Uncle Philip if I don't!"--grimly. "But you needn't worry. I got all my best manners down from the top shelf this morning and gave 'em a brush up."

"Good boy." Ann nodded approval.

"And by way of reward," insinuated Tony, "you'll come to the dance at the Gloria this evening, won't you? I could come over and fetch you about ten o'clock, after this precious Venetian fete is over. I'd have liked to go on the lake, but Uncle Philip has ordained that we are to watch the proceedings from our balcony at the Gloria. After that, I should think 'cousin' will be sufficiently exhausted to contemplate the idea of retiring to bed like a Christian woman. She's seventy-nine."

"People fox-trot at seventy-nine nowadays," suggested Ann mischievously.

"Perhaps your duties won't end at ten." Then, seeing his face fall: "But I'll come to the dance, if Lady Susan doesn't happen to want me this evening."

At that moment Lady Susan herself came into the room. She still limped a little, leaning on an ebony stick with a gold k.n.o.b.

"Who's taking my name in vain?" she asked, as she shook hands with Tony.

"I'm sure to want you," addressing Ann, "but I suppose I shall have to go without you if Tony wants you too."

Ann explained about the dance, adding: "But of course I shan't think of it if you'd rather I stayed at home."

"Of course you _will_ think of it," contradicted Lady Susan with vigour.

"I'd go myself if it wasn't for this wretched ankle of mine, and then"--bubbling over--"Philip and I could tread a stately measure together.

I can just see him doing it!" she added wickedly.

"That's fixed, then," said Tony. "So long. I'll call for you about ten o'clock, Ann."

After lunch Lady Susan and Ann drove off in the two-seater, Ann at the wheel and a great basket of flowers for ammunition purposes on the floor of the car. The streets were thronged with people, and from almost every window depended flags and coloured streamers, flapping gaily in the breeze.

Cars hastened hither and thither; some, elaborately decorated, were evidently intended to compete for the prizes offered, whilst others, like that of Lady Susan, were only sufficiently embellished to permit of their taking part in the Battle of Flowers, in accordance with the official regulations issued for the occasion.

The judging of the cars took place in the wide Place du Marche, and immediately afterwards the firing-off of a small self-important cannon signalised the commencement of the battle. Carriages and cars pa.s.sed and repa.s.sed, flowers were tossed from one to the other, whilst showers of confetti and coloured paper _serpentins_ flew through the air.

Lady Susan apparently enjoyed the fun as much as any one, and was perfectly charmed when, as the two-seater glided past Sir Philip's Rolls-Royce, he flung an exquisite spray of crimson roses into her lap, with a sprig of rosemary nestling amongst them.

"Romantic old dear!" she commented, laughing, as she retaliated with a tiny nosegay which Sir Philip caught neatly as it went sailing over his head.

But her eyes were very soft as she turned to Ann. "The beauty of not being married is that you never lose your illusions. Always remember that, Ann, when you feel like commiserating the old maids of your acquaintance."

"And are you bound to lose them if you marry?" queried Ann, steering her way deftly through the traffic and bringing the two-seater to a standstill as the stream of cars temporarily checked.

"No. But you run an excellent chance of it. Do you suppose if I'd married Sir Philip thirty years ago he'd be pelting me with roses now?"--enjoyably.

"Of course not. It'd be the tradesmen's books, most likely!"

"You wicked cynic!"

Lady Susan laid her hand impulsively on the girl's arm.

"Not really, Ann," she said hastily. "I know that if only a man remembers the roses, marriage may mean heaven on earth. But they so often forget"--a little wistfully. "And a woman does so _hate_ to be taken for granted--regarded as a kind of standing dis.h.!.+"

Came a regular barrage of flowers from a car to their right, and Ann, recognising a party of friends, returned them measure for measure.

Meanwhile, unnoticed by her, the third-prize car had drawn alongside, intervening between herself and the car-load of friends. She had already raised her arm to speed a final rosebud on its way, and then, with a sudden shock of surprise, she recognised in one of the occupants of the prize car the Englishman with the grey eyes. He was sitting beside an extremely pretty woman and looking somewhat haughty and ill-tempered, as though the whole business of the fete bored him excessively.

She tried to check her action, but it was too late. The rosebud flew from her fingers, and the Englishman's head being directly in her line of fire, the bud, sped with hearty goodwill, hit him straight on the nose. Ann smiled--she couldn't help it. But there came no response, his expression remaining unaltered. He regarded her unsmilingly, without a hint of recognition in his eyes.

A hot flush stained her cheeks.

"Boor!" was her mental comment, and she let in the clutch viciously as the car in front of her moved forward.

Lady Susan laughed outright.

"I wonder who that handsome, sulky-looking individual is?" she said gaily.

"He fairly froze you, Ann. I imagine he thinks you did it on purpose."

Ann's face burned more hotly. That was precisely the conclusion she had arrived at herself, and the idea filled her with helpless rage.

"He struck me as quite an unusual combination of good looks and bad temper," pursued Lady Susan. "Evidently he doesn't appreciate being pelted with roses."

A sudden gurgle of laughter broke from Ann.

"It was rather a hard little bud," she said vindictively. "I hope it hurt him."

Lady Susan threw a swift glance at her.

"Do you know him? Have you met him before?" she asked.

"He was down at the Kursaal the other night--the night Tony and I had such good luck. I dropped my bag and he picked it up for me. That's all."

Ann spoke rather shortly, and for some time afterwards appeared to be completely absorbed in manoeuvring the two-seater through the streets. They did not encounter the Englishman's car again, and eventually, after making a final circuit of the town, they returned to Mon Reve.