“Why,” he said, “I must have dropped asleep!” He rose and went to take Julia’s parcels.  “Let me put these away for you,” he said solicitiously; “it is a great deal too hot for you to be walking in the sun and carrying all these things.”

“Thank you,” Julia answered; “that’s all right.  Perhaps you would not mind getting the tea, though; if you would do that I should be glad.”

He did mind, but he set about it, and it was perhaps well for him that he did, as otherwise he might have paid a suspicious number of fidgety attentions to Julia.  As it was, doing the menial work which he always considered beneath his dignity, while Johnny sat still and rested, restored him to his usual manner.

But the Captain, though he was safely past the initial difficulty, did not find the working out of his scheme altogether easy.  He had the bulb, it is true, and he was safe from detection for there was still under the wire cover a smooth yellow-brown narcissus root very like the first one; but he had got to get rid of it.  It was not very easy to get a letter to the post here without remark from Mr. Gillat.  That, in the circumstances, would be undesirable for it was likely to arouse Julia’s suspicions, and if they were roused she might think it her duty to interfere—­even though, of course, she did wish the bulb sold.  Her father recognised that and, determining not to give her the opportunity, got his letter written betimes and waited for a chance to give it to the postman unobserved.  In writing he had been faced by one very great difficulty, he had not the least idea how much to ask.  Cross had said “name a reasonable price,” and he must name one, or else it would appear that he were writing on his own behalf not Julia’s; but he did not know what was reasonable and he had no chance of finding out.  A new orchid, he had vaguely heard, was sometimes worth a hundred pounds; but it was impossible any one should pay so much for a daffodil, an ordinary garden flower.  Julia, whatever her motive, would not have refused to sell it if it would have fetched so much; he could not conceive of a Polkington, especially a poor one, turning her back on a hundred pounds.  For hours he thought about this and at last decided to ask twenty pounds.  It seemed more to him now than it would have done a year ago, by reason of the small sums he had handled lately; but it was a good deal less than his golden dreams had painted the bulb to be worth in the time when it seemed unattainable, and he was paying debts and providing for Julia out of the proceeds of the imaginary sale.  Still, he finally decided to ask it and wrote to that effect, and after some waiting for the opportunity got the letter posted.

After that there followed an unpleasant time or suspense, made the more unpleasant by the fact that he had to look out for the postman as he did not want the return letter to fall into Julia’s hands.  At last, after a longer time than he expected, the reply came safely to hand.  This was it—­