Marcia had been secretly disappointed that afternoon by the non-arrival of one guest whom she had half expected—and Eleanor Royston had been frankly so. ‘Mr. Copley,’ Eleanor had inquired of her host, as he offered her a cup of tea, ‘where’s that friend of yours, Mr. Laurence Sybert?’ ‘Quelling rioters, I presume. It’s more in his line just now than attending balls.’ ‘As if anything could be more in a diplomat’s line than attending balls! With all the other diplomats here and off their guard, it’s just the time to learn state secrets. And he’s the most interesting man in Rome,’ she complained. ‘I wanted to add him to my collection.’ ‘Your collection?’ Mr. Copley’s startled expression approached a stare. ‘Of interesting men,’ she explained. ‘Oh, don’t be alarmed; I don’t scalp them. The collection is purely mental—it’s small enough, so far, to be carried in my head. It’s merely that I am a student of human nature and am constantly on the alert for fresh specimens. Your Mr. Sybert is puzzling; I don’t know just how to classify him.’ ‘Ah, I see! It is merely a scientific interest you take in him.’ Mr. Copley’s tone was one of relief. ‘If I can be of any assistance with the label—I am sure that he would feel honoured to grace your collection.’ ‘I am not so sure,’ said Marcia. ‘Wait till you hear the others, Uncle Howard! A Kansas politician who wants to be a poet, an engineer on the Claytons’ yacht, a Russian prince who talks seven languages and can’t express his thoughts in any, and—who were the others, Eleanor? Oh, yes! the blacksmith who married the maid and beats her.’ ‘You don’t do them justice,’ Eleanor remonstrated, ‘Those are merely their accidental, extrinsic qualities. That which makes them interesting is something intrinsic.’ Mr. Copley shot her an amused glance, and drawing up a chair, sat down beside her, prepared to argue it out. ‘The list has possibilities, Miss Royston,’ he assured her, ‘though of course one can’t judge without knowing the gentlemen personally. With which one, may I ask, are you going to classify Mr. Sybert?’ ‘Oh, in a separate pigeonhole by himself. That is just what makes my collection interesting.’ It was evidently a subject that she discussed with some relish. ‘Most men, you know—you look them over and immediately assign them to a group with a lot of others; but once in a while you come across a man who goes entirely by himself—is what the French call an _original_—and he is worth studying.’ Mr. Copley took out a cigarette and regarded it speculatively. ‘I see,’ he said. ‘The best study of mankind is man—and so you think Sybert a specimen who deserves a pigeonhole by himself?’ ‘Yes, I think he does, though I haven’t quite decided on the hole yet. That’s why it worries me that he didn’t come to the party. One hates to leave these little matters unsolved.’ ‘I am sincerely sorry for you to have lost the opportunity. I must tell him your opinion.’