His presence in the household seemed to have an opposite effect on the twin girls.  Gussie was delighted with his fine appearance and gallant speeches, but Dexie seemed to see the ignoble nature behind and kept him at a distance.

A few evenings after his arrival, when the family were assembled in the parlor, Mr. Plaisted, who was leaning back in his chair, in an attitude peculiar to Americans, asked:  “Have you a son living in Boston, Sherwood?  I met a young fellow in a broker’s office bearing your name.  Any relation of yours?”

“No, neither a son nor a relation; this is my only boy,” Mr. Sherwood replied, reaching for Georgie’s ear in a playful manner.

“Ah! that’s a pity now! a grown-up son would have been some use to you.  If one of the twins had happened to be a boy, you would have had quite an assistant by now.”

Dexie was sitting behind the window curtain, watching the passers-by.  She resented this speech, and the rude way it was uttered provoked her into replying: 

“One does not need to be born a boy to be of use in this world, allow me to tell you, Mr. Plaisted! for in all things that he needs help, I am my father’s boy—­not ghost!” she laughingly added, as Plaisted, startled by her sudden appearance, almost overbalanced in his chair.

“Bless me!  I didn’t notice you were there, Miss Dexie,” said he, regaining his equilibrium with an effort.  “Guess you’ve been studying Shakespeare for my benefit, eh, Miss Dexie?”

“Oh! that’s just like Dexie,” said Gussie, with a frown.  “She always likes to make a scene when she can.  She will want to go on the stage, I expect, by and by.”

“What nonsense!  Gussie,” said Dexie, smiling good-naturedly, “when all the theatrical performances we are allowed to attend are those that take place up in the attic.”

“Oh! come now, Miss Dexie.  How often do you slip off to plays with that young chap next door?” said Plaisted, with a sly wink at Gussie.  “I often see you down street together.”

“Your eyesight must be remarkably good, then,” was the icy reply, “for I think no one else can accuse me of ‘slipping off’ with any person.”

“By the way, Miss Dexie, I have been wondering what your name is, ever since I came.  Is it an abbreviation or a nick-name?” said Plaisted, anxious to turn the conversation.  “I have never met with a young lady bearing your name before.”

“And you are not likely to meet one again,” was the quick reply, as a flush of anger covered her face.

Mr. Sherwood looked across at Dexie, knowing full well that Plaisted could not have broached a more unfortunate subject.  Dexie’s full name was her chief annoyance, so he answered in a quiet tone, “Her name is Dexter, but she would like us all to forget the fact, and call her Dexie instead.”