“I have no doubt that Miss Gussie feels thankful she secured first choice,” said Plaisted, “and that her good looks entitled her to it,” and he looked over at Gussie with bold admiration in his glance.

“I don’t think looks had anything to do with it,” said Mr. Sherwood, “else this curly pate would have had first choice,” reaching over to pass his hand over the brown rings of hair.

“Seems to me this conversation is much too personal,” said Dexie, rising from her seat.  “I think a change would be welcome to one and all,” and she sat down before the piano.

Mr. Sherwood smiled his approval.  He was very proud of his daughter’s musical ability, for she could sing and play to suit the taste of any audience, and could arouse the inner emotions of those who had any feelings that were capable of being stirred at all.  One of her accomplishments, which she seldom exhibited before strangers, was that of whistling.  Few people have heard the exquisite notes that can be produced by an adept in the art, but there are whistlers and whistlers, whose notes differ as much as those of the linnet and the crow.  While accompanying herself on the piano, Dexie could produce such wonderful trills and quavers, with such purity of tone, that she could almost rival the very birds themselves, and she never failed to surprise and charm all that heard her.  Wishing to please her father, as well as convince Mr. Plaisted that her name did not make her a “ninny,” she selected some of her best pieces and sang her most charming songs; then, after a few soft notes, she broke into a bird-song, whistling the notes so faithfully true that Mr. Plaisted was startled as well as delighted, and the conversation he had begun with Gussie came to an abrupt end.

“Well, Miss Dexie, I must confess that you have surprised me,” said he, as Dexie resumed her seat at the window.  “I never heard the equal of that from the boards of any concert-room in New York.  No one would object to paying ‘dear for his whistle,’ if that quality was purchasable.  You would make a fortune on the stage.”

“I hope Dexie will never use her whistle as a money-making gift,” said her father; “but I think, myself, it is about as pretty music as one ever hears.”

“You can bet your life, Sherwood, she would create such a furore in musical circles that she would make something besides money for you.  Bring her out, Sherwood; it will pay you better than speculating with horses.”

“Heaven forbid!” replied Mr. Sherwood, extremely annoyed at the way Plaisted spoke of his favorite daughter.  “I fancy I can make a comfortable living for my family, without turning my daughter into a public character.”

“Thank you, papa,” came the clear-cut tones from the window; “but pray do not waste any more sentiment on Mr. Plaisted.  He happens to be one of that kind of men who would sell their own mothers for profit!  But he can’t help it, poor man, he was born that way!” and before Plaisted could recover from his surprise, Dexie had left the room.