ace
were at the door of the Cap Martin Hotel.

Quite a crowd of smart-looking people was assembled there, and for one
fond second I dreamed that they were waiting to witness our arrival. But
that pleasant delusion died almost as soon as born. As the group divided
at our approach we saw that they had been collected round a large
motor-car--a motor-car so resplendent that beside it our poor
rejuvenated thing looked like a little, made-up, old Quaker lady.

In colour this hated rival was a rich, ripe scarlet, with cushions to
match in her luxurious tonneau. Her bonnet was like a helmet of gold for
the goddess Minerva, and wherever there was space, or chance, for
something to sparkle with jewelled effect, that something availed
itself, with brilliance, of the opportunity.

The long scarlet body of the creature was shaded with a canopy of
canvas, white as the breast of a gull, and finished daintily all round
with a curly fringe. The poles which held it were apparently of
glittering gold, and the railing designed to hold luggage on the top, if
not of the same precious metal, was as polished as the letters of Lord
Chesterfield to his long-suffering son.

One jealous glance was enough to paint this glowing picture upon our
retinas, and there it remained, like a sun-spot, even when a later one
was stamped upon it. Three figures in long, grey motor-coats, exactly
alike, and motor-caps, held on with shirred chiffon veils came forward,
two advancing more quickly than the third.

"How _do_ you do, Sir Ralph? Good morning, Mr. Barrymore," Mrs. Kidder
and Beechy were saying. "We're all ready," went on the former,
excitedly. "We've been admiring the Prince's car, which came last night.
Isn't it a perfect beauty? Just _look_ at the sweet poppy-colour, and
his crest in black and gold. I never saw anything so pretty, did you?"

"I like Sir Ralph's car," said Miss Destrey. "It's such a cool grey, and
even in wind or dust it will always look neat. We shall match it very
well with our grey coats and veils."

I could have kissed her; while as for Terry, standing cap in hand, he
looked grateful enough to have grovelled at our fair champion's feet.
Nevertheless, we could not help knowing in our hearts that no normal
girl could help preferring that celestial peacock to our grey hen, and
that Miss Destrey's wish to be kind must have outstripped her obligation
to be truthful. This knowledge was turning a screw round in our vitals,
when His