That spring, as indeed every spring, there was a flower show in London at the Temple Gardens.  The things exhibited were principally bulb flowers, ixias, iris, narcissus and the like; the event was interesting to growers, both professional and amateur.  Joost Van Heigen came over from Holland to attend; he was sent by his father in a purely business capacity, but of course he was expected, and himself expected, to enjoy it, too; there would be many novelties exhibited and many beautiful flowers in which he would feel the sober appreciative pleasure of the connoisseur.  He came to England some days before the show; he had, besides attending that, to see some important customers on business, also one or two English growers.

Now, certain districts of Norfolk are very well suited to the cultivation of bulbs, so it is not surprising that Joost’s business took him there.  And, seeing that he had a Bradshaw and a good map, and had, moreover, six months ago addressed Julia’s box of bulbs to her nearest railway town, it is not surprising that he found the whereabouts of the town of Halgrave.  It was on Saturday night when he found it on the map; he was sitting in the coffee-room of a temperance hotel at the time.  He had done business for the day, and, seeing that the English do not care about working on Sundays, he would probably have to-morrow as well as to-night free.  Julia’s town was close—­a short railway journey, then a walk to Halgrave, and then one would be at her home—­it would be a pleasant way of spending the morning of a spring Sunday.  He thought about it a little; he had no invitation to go and see Julia, and he did not like going anywhere without an invitation or an express reason.  She might not want to see him, or it might put out her domestic arrangements if he came; he knew domestic arrangements were subject to such disturbances.  He hesitated some time, though it must be admitted that the fact that he had asked her to marry him and been refused did not come much into his consideration.  He had not altered his mind about that proposal, and he did not imagine she had altered hers; his devotion and her indifference were definite settled facts which would remain as long as either of them remained, but there was nothing embarrassing in them to him.  At last he decided that he would go, and it was the blue daffodil which decided him.

He had never heard what Julia had done with the bulb he had given her.  It was only reasonable to think she had sold it, seeing it was for the sake of money she had wanted it, but no whisper of any such thing had reached him or his father.  He longed to know about it, to hear the name of the man who had his treasure; for whom, in all probability, it was blooming now.  It was some connoisseur he was nearly certain; Julia would not have sold it to another grower.  He had not lain any such condition on her, but she would not have done that; she knew too well what it meant to him; he never doubted her in that matter, his faith was of too simple a kind.  Still he determined to go and see her, partly that he might hear the name of the man who bought the blue daffodil, partly because he wanted to and remembered that Julia, in the old days, did not seem of the kind to be upset by unexpected visitors and similar small domestic accidents.