“Very interesting, always, if they carry your imagination back to the times when you may suppose they were current.  Perhaps Horace tossed one of them to a beggar.  Perhaps one of these was the coin that was brought when One said to those about Him, ‘Bring me a penny, that I may see it.’  But the market price is a different matter.  That depends on the beauty and preservation, and above all the rarity, of the specimen.  Here is a coin, now,”—­he opened a small cabinet, and took one from it.  “Here is a Syracusan decadrachm with the head of Persephone, which is at once rare, well preserved, and beautiful.  I am afraid to tell what I paid for it.”

The Interviewer was not an expert in numismatics.  He cared very little more for an old coin than he did for an old button, but he had thought his purchase at the tollman’s might prove a good speculation.  No matter about the battered old pieces:  he had found out, at any rate, that Maurice must have money and could be extravagant, or what he himself considered so; also that he was familiar with ancient coins.  That would do for a beginning.

“May I ask where you picked up the coin you are showing me?” he said

“That is a question which provokes a negative answer.  One does not ’pick up’ first-class coins or paintings, very often, in these times.  I bought this of a great dealer in Rome.”

“Lived in Rome once?” said the Interviewer.

“For some years.  Perhaps you have been there yourself?”

The Interviewer said he had never been there yet, but he hoped he should go there, one of these years, “suppose you studied art and antiquities while you were there?” he continued.

“Everybody who goes to Rome must learn something of art and antiquities.  Before you go there I advise you to review Roman history and the classic authors.  You had better make a study of ancient and modern art, and not have everything to learn while you are going about among ruins, and churches, and galleries.  You know your Horace and Virgil well, I take it for granted?”

The Interviewer hesitated.  The names sounded as if he had heard them.  “Not so well as I mean to before going to Rome,” he answered.  “May I ask how long you lived in Rome?”

“Long enough to know something of what is to be seen in it.  No one should go there without careful preparation beforehand.  You are familiar with Vasari, of course?”

The Interviewer felt a slight moisture on his forehead.  He took out his handkerchief.  “It is a warm day,” he said.  “I have not had time to read all—­the works I mean to.  I have had too much writing to do, myself, to find all the time for reading and study I could have wished.”

“In what literary occupation have you been engaged, if you will pardon my inquiry? said Maurice.

“I am connected with the press.  I understood that you were a man of letters, and I hoped I might have the privilege of hearing from your own lips some account of your literary experiences.”