I know. I know. It’s distressing. Naturally, you want an explanation: and if the case were a woman’s, I could satisfy you. I’m sure I could; for, if you can but happen upon it, there is always sound policy behind a woman’s wildest extravagance—drinks of pearl or Bartholomew Eves. But Nero fiddles because he _enjoys_ fiddling and wants to see the pretty fire. And if we accept that elementality as, if not justifying, at least explaining our mere man, how much more must it suffice us in considerating that amiable _reductio ad absurdum_ of a man that we call a collector. I am to explain to you a collector? I am to explain why a respectable elderly lawyer runs about Epping Forest with a butterfly net on Sunday afternoons? why your favourite _jeune premier_ haunts a down-at-heel farmhouse for the twin china spaniels’ sake upon its parlour mantelpiece? why a square inch of orange paper changed hands the other day for near a thousand pounds? and why H. J. Cloud, Esq., after refreshing dalliance with the wonders of a wonderful world, returns, unconscious of incongruity, to his home, to his habit, to his hobby, to his beloved and incomparable birds’ eggs? How can I explain? What am I to say? Collectors are made that way. We must accept them as we accept love, or triplets, or earthquakes, as eccentricities of Nature, unaccountable but interesting. Besides, I collect pewter myself. So taking Justin for granted——But that, you see, is what Laura could not do. Here was Justin, with his years, his brains, his position—why—why—he had been to Oxford! He would have been a B.A. if he hadn’t had influenza! He had been round the world! He knew interesting people! He had once been to dinner with Mr. Wells! A man like Justin could do anything he chose—go into Parliament—write a book (she was convinced that he could write a book if he would only take the trouble, for there was a something about his letters ...) and here he was, settling down to—to collecting birds’ eggs! Birds’ eggs!! She put it to him once in desperation—“Why birds’ eggs?” But then, as Justin said to her—“Why not?” They never got farther than that.