“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 Fête 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 hôteliers, 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 anticipation 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 fête on the waters of the bay.
Tony looked in at Villa Mon Rêve 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.”