rarity
before; she leaned against the centre stand and listened while the old
man grew eloquent, with the eloquence of the connoisseur, not the
tradesman, over his treasure. There was no need for her to say much,
only to put a question here and there, or make a sympathetic comment;
with little or no effort she learned a good deal about the wonderful
bulb. It seemed that it really had been grown in the Van Heigens'
gardens, and not imported from Asia, as Mr. Cross thought. There were
six roots by this time; not so many as had been hoped and expected, it
did not increase well, and was evidently going to be difficult to
grow.

"Would you like to know the name which it will immortalise?" the old
man asked at last. "It is called Narcissus Triandrus Azurem Vrouw Van
Heigen."

"You named it in honour of Mevrouw, I suppose?" Julia said.

"I did not; Joost did."

"Mijnheer Joost?" she repeated.

"Yes," the father answered. "It is his, not mine; to him belongs the
honour. It is he who has produced this marvel. How? That is a secret;
perhaps even I could not tell you if I would; Nature is wonderful in
her ways; we can only help her, we cannot create. Yes, yes, it is
Joost who has done this. He seemed to you a retiring youth? Yet he is
the most envied and most honoured man of our profession. I would
sooner--there are many men in Holland who would sooner--have produced
this flower than have a thousand pounds. And he is my son--you may
well believe that I am proud."

And Mijnheer beamed with satisfaction in his son and his blue
daffodil. But Julia leaned against the stand in the dry twilight,
saying nothing. Money, it appeared, was not then the measure of all
things; neither intrinsically, as with Mr. Alexander Cross, nor for
what it represented in comfort and position, as with her own family,
did it rank with these bulb growers. They, these people whom her
mother would have called market gardeners, tradespeople, it seemed,
loved and reverenced their work; they thought about it and for it,
were proud of it and valued distinction in it, and nothing else. The
blue daffodil was no valuable commercial asset, it was an honour and
glory, an unparalleled floral distinction--no wonder Cross could not
buy or exploit it. In a jump Julia comprehended the situation more
fully than that astute business man ever could; but at the same time
she felt a little bitter amusement--it was this, this treasured
wonder, that she thought to obtain.