nly a few questions to assure him that Gussie was innocent, after all, and
she seemed so offended when he asked if she had told his name to anyone
that he felt compelled to believe she knew nothing of the matter. Gussie
was too much enraptured with her own valentine to take much note of
Plaisted's abstracted manner, for even the sight of Gussie's pretty face
did not put aside the memory of those tormenting lines.

But his torture was only begun. Dexie was determined to crowd into a few
hours the annoyance he had spread over several days in her case. Her plans
were well laid, and she had even studied a book of statistics for his
benefit. A few minutes before dinner was announced, while Gussie was adding
a few touches to her toilet, Dexie came into her room, and, after a few
general remarks, said: "Mr. Plaisted has come to dinner, has he not?"

"Yes, papa sent him up. I hope you have something nice for dinner, Dexie."

This was the very question that Dexie hoped to hear, so she replied: "Oh!
yes, I think it will pass. There is some nicely-cooked shad for the fish
course; but if that does not suit Mr. Plaisted's fancy, there is sufficient
besides. Say, Gussie, I don't often ask a favor, but I wish to-day you
would praise the shad."

"Praise the shad! Why on earth should I praise the shad! If it is cooked
nice, isn't that enough?"

"No, Gussie, not for this occasion; I'm afraid Mr. Plaisted will not be
partial to shad, but if the rest of us seem to like it, of course he cannot
refuse it."

"Oh! all right. I'll not only praise the shad, but I'll make Mr. Plaisted
think there is nothing I like better."

Gussie hastened down to the parlor, where Mr. Plaisted was waiting, while
Dexie threw herself into a chair in muffled shrieks of laughter.

"There, now, I guess I can keep a straight face till the time arrives;" and
a few minutes later she followed the family to the dining-room.

There was certainly nothing amiss in the manner of the cooking or serving
of the shad, and the presence of this particular fish at the table did not
strike Plaisted as unusual, until Mr. Sherwood asked if he would be "helped
to shad."

His mind by this time had become almost normal, but that one word threw him
back into his former state, and brought again that tormenting refrain,
"Dear Shadrach! my Shad!" He glared at the dish containing the fish as if
he would annihilate it; but, hastily collecting his scattering senses, he
took the plate M