Mrs. Sherwood was more than satisfied to leave all unpleasant things for Aunt Jennie to settle.  It was quite convenient to be an “invalid” when there was trouble below stairs, and it required more than a hint to make Plaisted see that he was transgressing all rules of hospitality.  When Mr. Sherwood announced that the Straits were opened, and they would leave at once to catch the first boat, they were all willing to “speed the parting guest,” even though he would take Mr. Sherwood away with him also.

Strange though it may seem, Gussie was the only one who saw no fault to find in Mr. Plaisted.  He was too free with his compliments to be anything but pleasant company to her.  She was willing enough to listen to his soft speeches, for in her eyes he was a hero of romance, and the warning words and admonitions of Aunt Jennie only served to exalt him higher in her estimation.

Dexie treated him with such frigid politeness that he did not care to meet her cold stare more often than necessary; so, when he sought Gussie’s society, Mr. Sherwood or Aunt Jennie were the only ones likely to interrupt the tete-a-tete.

But things were not always to run so smoothly for Mr. Plaisted, and this first day of April brought such discomfiture that his fastidious feelings were very much upset.  About noon, when the streets were thronged with pedestrians returning from work or school to the mid-day meal, Dexie noticed Mr. Plaisted sauntering toward the house, twirling his light cane and looking as if he thought himself the pink of perfection.  But what was it that was fluttering in the breeze behind him?  Some urchin—­exasperated, no doubt, by Plaisted’s immaculate appearance—­had fastened to his coat-tails a bunch of dirty rags, and as Dexie watched him from the window, she was convulsed with laughter as she saw him lift his hat and bow profoundly to the two Desbrasy girls on the opposite sidewalk, who immediately pulled out their handkerchiefs and applied them to their faces; but he walked on, unconscious of the diversion he was causing to the passers-by.  As he came into the house, Dexie struck an attitude, and exclaimed, in a tragic voice, “I could a tale unfold!”

Plaisted stood in the doorway, and looked at her in amazement.

“Dexie, don’t be a fool,” said Gussie, looking up from her wools, and frowning at her sister’s strange behavior.

“No, Gussie; I don’t intend even to try and be one, for when Mr. Plaisted assumes that character, no one else has a possible chance either as court fool or April fool.”

Plaisted was too surprised to speak, and Dexie took no heed to his darkening brow, but continued, “So you have been studying Shakespeare, and this is a practical illustration, I presume; or possibly you are posing as a disciple of Darwin, and, to prove his theory, have unfolded your tail to the public gaze.  I have often wondered what it was you needed to make you a perfect specimen of what Nature intended you to be.”  Then, catching his arm, she turned him about that Gussie might see, adding, “He is quite complete now, Gussie—­see!  This is a specimen of the species known as the ‘missing link.’”