‘That’s the trouble,’ complained Marcia. ‘If you’re a man you can go around and get acquainted with any one you please, whether he’s a blacksmith or a prince; but if you’re a girl you have to wait till you’re introduced at a tea. And the interesting ones never are introduced at teas.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Eleanor; ‘that’s partly true. But, on the other hand, I think you really get to know people better if you’re a girl—what they’re really like inside, I mean. Men are remarkably confidential creatures.’
‘Did you find Mr. Sybert confidential?’
‘N-no. I can’t say that I did. He’s queer, isn’t he? You have the feeling that he doesn’t talk about what he thinks about—that’s why I should like to know him. It’s not what a man does that makes him interesting; it’s what he thinks. It’s his potentialities.’
Margaret rose with something of a yawn. ‘If you’re going to discuss potentialities, I’m going to bed. Come on, Eleanor. To-morrow’s the festa of Our Lady of Good Counsel, and we start at nine o’clock.’
Eleanor rose reluctantly. ‘I wish we weren’t going to Perugia on Wednesday. I should much rather stay here with Marcia.’
‘And Mr. Sybert,’ Margaret laughed.
‘Oh, yes, Mr. Sybert,’ Eleanor acquiesced. ‘He annoys you until you get him settled.’
‘He’s like one of those problems in algebra,’ suggested Marcia. ‘Given a lot of things, to find the value of x. You work it exactly right and x won’t come.’
Margaret paused by the door and gathered her wrapper around her like a toga.