But curiously enough, they were brought to her mind again before long; not later, indeed, than that evening, when she went to a dance at a neighbour’s house.  At this dance she met a Mr. Alexander Cross.  He was not a native of Marbridge, not at all like any of them; it is quite possible that they would have rather looked down upon him; Julia recognised that he barely came up to her mother’s standard of a gentleman.  He seemed to be a keen business man of the energetic new sort; he also seemed to deal in most things, flowers among them.  He told Julia something about that part of his business, for he and it interested her so much that she asked him leading questions.  He explained how the beautiful orchid he wore in his coat had decreased in value lately.  A few years ago, when there had been but one specimen with just that marking in all the world, the plant had sold for L900; now that it had been multiplied it was worth only L25, nothing practically.

“It was a novelty then,” he explained; “some novelties are worth a great deal.  There’s one I know of now I could do some good business with if I could get hold of it.  But I can’t; the old fool that’s got it won’t sell it for any price, and he can’t half work it himself.  It’s a blue daffodil—­Narcissus Triandrus Azureum he calls it; or rather, to give it its full title, Narcissus Triandrus Azureum Vrouw Van Heigen; so called, I believe, in honour of his wife, or his mother.”

Julia wondered if the Van Heigen who owned the precious flower was the old Dutchman of her acquaintance.  “Is he a bulb grower?” she asked, though without giving any reason for her question.

“Yes,” Cross answered, “a Dutch bulb grower; that’s why he won’t make the profit he might; he comes of generations of growers, and they venerate their bulbs.  He has cranky notions of how things ought to be done, and no other way will do for him.”

“How did he get a blue daffodil?  Do you think it is real?  It seems very unusual.”

“It is unusual; that’s where the value comes in; but it’s real fast enough, though I don’t believe he grew the first, as he says, in his own garden.  It’s my opinion that one of his collectors sent him the first bulb; he has collectors all over the world, you know, looking for new things.”

“What is he going to do with it?” Julia asked.

“He is multiplying it at present; at first he had only one, now, of course, he has a few more; when he has got enough he will hybridise.  You don’t know what that is.  Cross-breed with it; use the blue with the old yellow daffodil as parents to new varieties.  That’s ticklish work; growers can’t afford to do it till they have a fair number of the new sort; but, of course, they occasionally get something good that way.”

Julia listened, much interested, though, to tell the truth, the money value of the thing fascinated her more than anything else.

“Will he never sell any of his blue bulbs?” she asked.