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 passed and
repassed, 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