Words failed to express the punishment awaiting the author of those insulting verses. But wait! did he know the handwriting? at thought of Dexie Sherwood's previous productions coming to his mind. Ah! that last verse seemed to throw out a hint! He looked at his tormentor closely, and doubted. That envelope, yes, Gussie must have sent it, for she had spelled his name "Danuel." He never would have thought that Gussie would be guilty of such a thing. He would go away on the next train and never look on her face again. Yes, he would go at once, and forget the whole cursed stuff--said "cursed stuff" being the affectionate lines which continued to haunt him after the manner of the mind-destroying craze which Mark Twain inflicted on a later generation, "Punch, brothers, punch with care;" for as he walked down the street the words kept time to his feet, the train bells echoed them, and it was those very words that pealed a warning at the crossing. So intent were his thoughts on the affectionate lines that he was oblivious to everything around him, and Mr. Sherwood spoke his name twice before Plaisted awoke from his reverie. He felt inclined to refuse the kindly-worded invitation to dinner which Mr. Sherwood extended to him, but, on second thoughts, accepted it; he would satisfy himself as to whether Gussie sent the valentine or not. But it took only 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."