ous heroine, "now we are alone. Mr.
Quatermain, let me see--those butterflies."

I placed the case on a deal table which stood under a skylight in the
room. I opened it; I removed the cover of wadding, and there,
pressed between two sheets of glass and quite uninjured after all its
journeyings, appeared the golden flower, glorious even in death, and by
its side the broad green leaf.

The young gentleman called Somers looked at it till I thought his eyes
would really start out of his head. He turned away muttering something
and looked again.

"Oh! Heavens," he said at last, "oh! Heavens, is it possible that such
a thing can exist in this imperfect world? You haven't faked it, Mr.
Half--I mean Quatermain, have you?"

"Sir," I said, "for the second time you are making insinuations. Good
morning," and I began to shut up the case.

"Don't be offhanded," he exclaimed. "Pity the weaknesses of a poor
sinner. You don't understand. If only you understood, you would
understand."

"No," I said, "I am bothered if I do."

"Well, you will when you begin to collect orchids. I'm not mad, really,
except perhaps on this point, Mr. Quatermain,"--this in a low and
thrilling voice--"that marvellous Cypripedium--your friend is right, it
is a Cypripedium--is worth a gold mine."

"From my experience of gold mines I can well believe that," I said
tartly, and, I may add, prophetically.

"Oh! I mean a gold mine in the figurative and colloquial sense, not as
the investor knows it," he answered. "That is, the plant on which it
grew is priceless. Where is the plant, Mr. Quatermain?"

"In a rather indefinite locality in Africa east by south," I replied. "I
can't place it to within three hundred miles."

"That's vague, Mr. Quatermain. I have no right to ask it, seeing that
you know nothing of me, but I assure you I am respectable, and in short,
would you mind telling me the story of this flower?"

"I don't think I should," I replied, a little doubtfully. Then, after
another good look at him, suppressing all names and exact localities,
I gave him the outline of the tale, explaining that I wanted to find
someone who would finance an expedition to the remote and romantic spot
where this particular Cypripedium was believed to grow.

Just as I finished my narrative, and before he had time to comment on
it, there came a violent knocking at the door.

"Mr. Stephen," said a voice, "are you there, Mr. Stephen?"

"By Jove! that's Briggs," excl