The conservatory was a place in which he could have spent the evening; it was filled with the most extraordinary varieties of plants.  “They were gathered from all over the world,” said Mrs. Winnie, seeing that he was staring at them.  “My husband employed a connoisseur to hunt them out for him.  He did it before we were married—­he thought it would make me happy.”

In the centre of the place there was a fountain, twelve or fourteen feet in height, and set in a basin of purest Carrara marble.  By the touch of a button the pool was flooded with submerged lights, and one might see scores of rare and beautiful fish swimming about.

“Isn’t it fine!” said Mrs. Winnie, and added eagerly, “Do you know, I come here at night, sometimes when I can’t sleep, and sit for hours and gaze.  All those living things; with their extraordinary forms-some of them have faces, and look like human beings!  And I wonder what they think about, and if life seems as strange to them as it does to me.”

She seated herself by the edge of the pool, and gazed in.  “These fish were given to me by my cousin, Ned Carter.  They call him Buzzie.  Have you met him yet?—­No, of course not.  He’s Charlie’s brother, and he collects art things—­the most unbelievable things.  Once, a long time ago, he took a fad for goldfish—­some goldfish are very rare and beautiful, you know—­one can pay twenty-five and fifty dollars apiece for them.  He got all the dealers had, and when he learned that there were some they couldn’t get, he took a trip to Japan and China on purpose to get them.  You know they raise them there, and some of them are sacred, and not allowed to be sold or taken out of the country.  And he had all sorts of carved ivory receptacles for them, that he brought home with him—­he had one beautiful marble basin about ten feet long, that had been stolen from the Emperor.”

Over Montague’s shoulder where he sat, there hung an orchid, a most curious creation, an explosion of scarlet flame.  “That is the odonto-glossum,” said Mrs. Winnie.  “Have you heard of it?”

“Never,” said the man.

“Dear me,” said the other.  “Such is fame!”

“Is it supposed to be famous?” he asked.

“Very,” she replied.  “There was a lot in the newspapers about it.  You see Winton—­that’s my husband, you know—­paid twenty-five thousand dollars to the man who created it; and that made a lot of foolish talk—­people come from all over to look at it.  I wanted to have it, because its shape is exactly like the coronet on my crest.  Do you notice that?”

“Yes,” said Montague.  “It’s curious.”

“I’m very proud of my crest,” continued Mrs. Winnie.  “Of course there are vulgar rich people who have them made to order, and make them ridiculous; but ours is a real one.  It’s my own—­not my husband’s; the Duvals are an old French family, but they’re not noble.  I was a Morris, you know, and our line runs back to the old French ducal house of Montmorenci.  And last summer, when we were motoring, I hunted up one of their chateaux; and see!  I brought over this.”