“Oh, no--yes. I have had some disturbing news, but nothing to take any notice of. I will tell you afterwards,” Mrs. Nugent said. Lucy too hung upon her, eager to know what was the matter. “Only some blunders--about my affairs,” she had replied, “which I can set right.” “Oh, if that is all!” Lucy had cried, running off to salute some other new-comers and carrying Tiny in her train. “Affairs” meant business to Lucy, and business, so far as she was aware, touched only the outside, and could have nothing to do with any one’s happiness. Besides, her mind was in a turmoil for the moment with that strange story of Mrs. Bertram which her mother had just told her by way of precaution, filtered from Ralph. “Mr. Bertram is married, it appears; but he and his wife don’t get on,” was what Mr. Wradisley had said. Lucy’s imagination had, as we are aware, been busy about Bertram, and she was startled by this strange and sudden conclusion to her self-inquiry whether by any chance he might be the Ideal man. It was thus that Mrs. Nugent had been suddenly left without even the protection of her child, and though she had managed for some time to hide herself, as she supposed (though his watchful gaze in reality followed her everywhere), from her host amid the crowd of other people assembled, there came the inevitable moment when she could keep herself from him no longer. He came up to her while the people who surrounded dispersed to examine his collection or to go in for tea. “But I have seen your collection, Mr. Wradisley,” she said; “you were so kind as to show me everything.” “It is not my collection,” he said; “it is--a flower I want to show you. The new orchid--the new--Let me take you into the conservatory. I must,” he said, in a lower tone. “You must be merciful and let me speak to you.” “Mr. Wradisley,” she cried, almost under her breath, “do not, for pity’s sake, say any more.” “I must,” he said, impetuously. “I must know.” And then he added in his usual tone, “Stevenson is very proud of it. It is a very rare kind, you know, and the finest specimen, he says.” “Oh, what is that, Mr. Wradisley?--an orchid? May I come too?” said another guest, without discrimination.