As she spoke Ann stripped off her gloves, revealing a pair of slender hands that hardly looked as though they would be competent to manipulate the steering-wheel of a car. Yet there was more than one keen-eyed, red-tabbed soldier whom she had driven during the war who could testify to the complete efficiency of those same slim members. "I'm dying for some tea, Tony," she announced, tossing her gloves on to the table. "Let's go in and choose cakes." Tony nodded, and they dived into the interior of the shop, and, arming themselves with a plate and fork each, proceeded to spear up such as most appealed to them of the delectable _pâtisseries_ arranged in tempting rows along shining trays. Then, giving an order for their tea to be served outside, they emerged once more into the sunlit street. One of the Algerian officers followed Ann's movements with an appreciative glance. Had she been listening she might have caught his murmured, "_V'la une jolie anglaise, hein_?" But she was extremely unselfconscious, and took it very much for granted that she had been blessed with russet hair which gave back coppery gleams to the sunlight, and with a pair of changeful hazel eyes that looked sometimes clearly golden and sometimes like the brown, gold-flecked heart of a pansy. She was almost boyishly slender in build, and there was a sense of swift vitality about all her movements that reminded one of the free, untrammelled grace of a young panther. Tony Brabazon watched her consideringly while she poured out tea. "Montricheux has been like a confounded desert to-day," he remarked gloomily. He was obviously feeling very much ill-used. "Tell Lady Susan she'll drive me to take the downward path if she monopolises you like this." "Tony, you've not been getting into mischief?" Ann spoke lightly, but a faint expression of anxiety flitted across her face as she paused, the teapot poised above her cup, for his answer. He hesitated a moment, his eyes sullen, then laughed shortly. "How could I get into mischief--my particular kind of mischief--in Montricheux, with the stakes at the tables limited to five measly francs? If we were at Monte, now--" If Ann noticed his hesitation she made no comment on it. She finished pouring out her tea. "I'm very glad we're not," she said with decision. "You'd be too big a handful for me to manage there." "I've told you how you can manage me--if you want to," he returned swiftly. "I'd be like wax in your hands if you'd marry me, Ann." "I shouldn't care for a husband who was like wax in my hands, thank you," she retorted promptly. "Besides, I'm not in the least in love with you." "That's frank, anyway." "Quite frank. And what's more, you're not really in love with me." Tony stiffened. "I should think I'm the best judge of that," he said, haughtily. "Not a bit. You're too young to know"--coolly.