“Well, that’s over,” said Mr. Stephen gently, as he fanned himself with a pocket-handkerchief.  “Quite exciting while it lasted, wasn’t it, Mr. Quatermain—­but I have been there before, so to speak.  And now what do you say to some luncheon?  Pym’s is close by, and they have very good oysters.  Only I think we’ll drive round by the bank and hand in this cheque.  When he’s angry my parent is capable of anything.  He might even stop it.  Woodden, get off down to Twickenham with ’O.  Pavo.’  Keep it warm, for it feels rather like frost.  Put it in the stove for to-night and give it a little, just a little tepid water, but be careful not to touch the flower.  Take a four-wheeled cab, it’s slow but safe, and mind you keep the windows up and don’t smoke.  I shall be home for dinner.”

Woodden pulled his forelock, seized the pot in his left hand, and departed with his right fist raised—­I suppose in case Sir Alexander should be waiting for him round the corner.

Then we departed also and, after stopping for a minute at the bank to pay in the cheque, which I noted, notwithstanding its amount, was accepted without comment, ate oysters in a place too crowded to allow of conversation.

“Mr. Quatermain,” said my host, “it is obvious that we cannot talk here, and much less look at that orchid of yours, which I want to study at leisure.  Now, for a week or so at any rate I have a roof over my head, and in short, will you be my guest for a night or two?  I know nothing about you, and of me you only know that I am the disinherited son of a father, to whom I have failed to give satisfaction.  Still it is possible that we might pass a few pleasant hours together talking of flowers and other things; that is, if you have no previous engagement.”

“I have none,” I answered.  “I am only a stranger from South Africa lodging at an hotel.  If you will give me time to call for my bag, I will pass the night at your house with pleasure.”

By the aid of Mr. Somers’ smart dog-cart, which was waiting at a city mews, we reached Twickenham while there was still half an hour of daylight.  The house, which was called Verbena Lodge, was small, a square, red-brick building of the early Georgian period, but the gardens covered quite an acre of ground and were very beautiful, or must have been so in summer.  Into the greenhouse we did not enter, because it was too late to see the flowers.  Also, just when we came to them, Woodden arrived in his four-wheeled cab and departed with his master to see to the housing of “O.  Pavo.”

Then came dinner, a very pleasant meal.  My host had that day been turned out upon the world, but he did not allow this circumstance to interfere with his spirits in the least.  Also he was evidently determined to enjoy its good things while they lasted, for his champagne and port were excellent.

“You see, Mr. Quatermain,” he said, “it’s just as well we had the row which has been boiling up for a long while.  My respected father has made so much money that he thinks I should go and do likewise.  Now I don’t see it.  I like flowers, especially orchids, and I hate bullion-broking.  To me the only decent places in London are that sale-room where we met and the Horticultural Gardens.”