and that is the main thing, — the most excellent thing in man or woman.”
“Yes, truth makes that nuisance, beauty, tolerable.”
“You did not do me the honor to present me.”
“I saw you had gone a great way beyond that, my boy. Have you not her initials in cambric on your brow? Not M. T., which wouldn’t apply; but M. D.”
“Mary ——?”
“Damer.”
“I like the name,” says Wade, repeating it. “It sounds simple and thorough-bred.”
“Just what she is. One of the nine simple-hearted and thorough-bred girls on this continent.”
“Nine?”
“Is that too many? Three, then. That’s one in ten millions. The exact proportion of Poets, Painters, Orators, Statesmen, and all other Great Artists. Well, — three or nine, — Mary Damer is one of them. She never saw fear or jealousy, or knowingly allowed an ignoble thought or an ungentle word or an ungraceful act in herself. Her atmosphere does not tolerate flirtation. You must find out for yourself how much genius she has and has not. But I will say this, — that I think of puns two a minute faster when I’m with her. Therefore she must be magnetic, and that is the first charm in a woman.”
Wade laughed. “You have not lost your powers of analysis, Peter. But talking of this heroine,
