"Pretty well as much, very likely £300 for one bulb. Van Heigen would
give a written guarantee with it not to sell another bulb to another
grower."

"But he could keep the others himself?" Julia asked. "That would be
eating his cake and having it too. Tell me," she said, feeling she was
imitating the Patriarch when he was pleading for Sodom and Gomorrah,
"if there were ten bulbs, what could you get for one."

Cross was amused by her interest. "A hundred pounds, I dare say," he
said; "but I shall never have the chance. The trade will never touch
those blue daffodils while they are worth having. When the old man
does begin to sell them--when they are worth very little to the
growers--he will sell to collectors, cranky old connoisseurs, from
choice. That's what I mean when I say he doesn't understand business
as business; he would rather sell his precious blue daffodils where
they were what he calls 'appreciated.' He would sooner they went for a
moderate price to people who would worship them, than make an enormous
profit out of them."

"But the connoisseurs could sell them," Julia objected. "If I were a
connoisseur and bought one when they were for sale, I could sell it to
you if I liked."

"Yes, but you wouldn't," Cross said; "if you were a connoisseur you
would not dream of parting with your bulb. You wouldn't have the
slightest wish to make a hundred per cent. on your purchase, or two or
three hundred either. Also I shouldn't buy."