three
words spoken on the other side by the visitor; they were--"your new
daffodil."

So that was the business this man had come on! He was trying to buy
Julia's ugly streaked flower. The Captain's weak mouth set straight;
he felt very strongly about the daffodil and his daughter's refusal
to sell it. He knew she might have done so; she had had a good many
letters about it since it was exhibited in London. She said little
about the offers they contained, but he knew she refused them all; he
had taxed her with it and argued the question to no purpose. Now,
to-day, it seemed there was a man so anxious to buy the thing that he
had actually come to see her; and she, of course, would refuse again.
The Captain sat down in the easy-chair; he was overcome by the thought
of Julia's contrary stupidity.

The chair was near the door, but he would have scouted the idea that
he was listening; he was a man of honour, and why should he wish to
hear Julia refuse good money? Also it was impossible to hear all that
was said unless the speakers were close to the door. Apparently they
must have been near for no sooner had he sat down than he heard the
man say, "Haven't I had the pleasure of seeing you somewhere before,
Miss Snooks? Your face seems familiar though I can't exactly locate
it."

"We met at Marbridge," Julia answered; "at a dance, a year and a half
ago."

"At Marbridge? Oh, of course! Funny I shouldn't have remembered when I
heard your name the other day!"

Captain Polkington did not think it at all funny; he did not know who
Mr. Cross might be, nobody important he judged by his voice and
manner--hostesses at Marbridge often had to import extra nondescript
men for their dances. But whoever he was, if he had been there once he
might go there again and carry with him the tale of Julia's doings and
home and other things detrimental to the Polkington pride. The Captain
listened to hear one of the two in the other room refer to the change
of name which had prevented an earlier recognition. But neither did;
she saw no reason for it, and he had forgotten her original name if he
ever knew it.

"I remember all about you now," he was saying; "you danced with me
several times and asked me about the Van Heigens' blue daffodil"--he
paused as if a new idea had occurred to him. "You were not in the line
then, I suppose?" he asked.

"No, I knew nothing about flower growing or selling," she answered.
"What you told me of the value of