o
that the porters might exhibit each lot before it was put up for sale.
Standing under the rostrum was yet another table, a small one, upon
which were about twenty pots of flowers, even more wonderful than
those on the large table. A notice stated that these would be sold at
one-thirty precisely. All about the room stood knots of men (such ladies
as were present sat at the table), many of whom had lovely orchids
in their buttonholes. These, I found out afterwards, were dealers and
amateurs. They were a kindly-faced set of people, and I took a liking to
them.

The whole place was quaint and pleasant, especially by contrast with
the horrible London fog outside. Squeezing my small person into a corner
where I was in nobody's way, I watched the proceedings for a while.
Suddenly an agreeable voice at my side asked me if I would like a look
at the catalogue. I glanced at the speaker, and in a sense fell in love
with him at once--as I have explained before, I am one of those to whom
a first impression means a great deal. He was not very tall, though
strong-looking and well-made enough. He was not very handsome, though
none so ill-favoured. He was just an ordinary fair young Englishman,
four or five-and-twenty years of age, with merry blue eyes and one of
the pleasantest expressions that I ever saw. At once I felt that he
was a sympathetic soul and full of the milk of human kindness. He was
dressed in a rough tweed suit rather worn, with the orchid that seemed
to be the badge of all this tribe in his buttonhole. Somehow the costume
suited his rather pink and white complexion and rumpled fair hair, which
I could see as he was sitting on his cloth hat.

"Thank you, no," I answered, "I did not come here to buy. I know nothing
about orchids," I added by way of explanation, "except a few I have seen
growing in Africa, and this one," and I tapped the tin case which I held
under my arm.

"Indeed," he said. "I should like to hear about the African orchids.
What is it you have in the case, a plant or flowers?"

"One flower only. It is not mine. A friend in Africa asked me to--well,
that is a long story which might not interest you."

"I'm not sure. I suppose it must be a Cymbidium scape from the size."

I shook my head. "That's not the name my friend mentioned. He called it
a Cypripedium."

The young man began to grow curious. "One Cypripedium in all that large
case? It must be a big flower."

"Yes, my friend said it is the b