"I thought you looked incomplete and abnormal. Well, I will show you a model wife,--and here she comes!" Here they came, the two ladies, gliding round the Point, with draperies floating as artlessly artful as the robes of Raphael's Hours, or a Pompeian Bacchante. For want of classic vase or _patera_, Miss Damer brandished Peter Skerrett's pocket-pistol. Fanny Skerrett gave her hand cordially to Wade, and looked a little anxiously at his pale face. "Now, M.D.," says Peter, "you have been surgeon, you shall be doctor and dose our patient. Now, then,-- "'Hebe, pour free! Quicken his eyes with mountain-dew, That Styx, the detested, No more he may view.'" "Thanks, Hebe!" Wade said, continuing the quotation,-- "I quaff it! Io Paean, I cry! The whiskey of the Immortals Forbids me to die." "We effeminate women of the nineteenth century are afraid of broken heads," said Fanny. "But Mary Damer seems quite to enjoy your accident, Mr. Wade, as an adventure." Miss Damer certainly did seem gay and exhilarated. "I enjoy it," said Wade. "I perceive that I fell on my feet, when I fell on my crown. I tumbled among old friends, and I hope among new ones." "I have been waiting to claim my place among your old friends," Mrs. Skerrett said, "ever since Peter told me you were one of his models." She delivered this little speech with a caressing manner which totally fascinated Wade. Nothing was ever so absolutely pretty as Mrs. Peter Skerrett. Her complete prettiness left nothing to be desired. "Never," thought Wade, "did I see such a compact little casket of perfections. Every feature is thoroughly well done and none intrusively superior. Her little nose is a combination of all the amiabilities. Her black eyes sparkle with fun and mischief and wit, all playing over deep tenderness below. Her hair ripples itself full of gleams and shadows. The same coquetry of Nature that rippled her hair has dinted her cheeks with shifting dimples. Every time she smiles--and she smiles as if sixty an hour were not half allowance--a dimple slides into view and vanishes like a dot in a flow of sunny water. And, O Peter Skerrett! if you were not the best fellow in the world, I should envy you that latent kiss of a mouth." "You need not say it, Wade,--your broken head exempts you from the business of compliments," said Peter; "but I see you think my wife perfection. You'll think so the more, the more you know her." "Stop, Peter," said she, "or I shall have to hide behind the superior charms of Mary Damer."