Thus, no doubt, may Achilles have admonished Agamemnon, though Homer puts the speech in different words. The game-keeper was no coward, but neither was he a fool, and although his tawny antagonist had not struck him, the sensations of the contact were those of disputing the right of way with a rapidly moving motor-car. The keeper looked the situation over, but could see no good in it. Moreover, he saw a sudden yellow flame in the blinking eyes fastened upon him. Without a word the man turned and slouched off into the pines. Applebo glanced quickly at Hermione. "Sit down!" said he. "You look white." Hermione's usually robust limbs seemed to collapse beneath her, and she dropped to the pine-strewn sand. "You got here just in time!" said she, tremulously. "I might have shot him." "I doubt it," said Applebo, "your gun muzzle was weaving figure eights. It would have served him right if you had ... and I'd have sworn to anything." Hermione laughed hysterically, then glanced up at the poet. He was standing a couple of paces away, his arms folded on his chest, his eyes looking out across the marsh. "It's silly of me to be so upset..." said Hermione, and covered her face with her hands. "I'll be all right in a minute." "Did you know the place was posted?" asked Applebo. "Yes..." "Then you really haven't any kick coming." "What...!" Hermione's hands dropped to her sides, and she stared at him in amazement. Applebo glanced back indifferently, and she scarcely recognised the sleepy face and blinking eyes. He pointed to the birds which she had tumbled out of her game-bag. "Taken with the goods ... and I must say, you did pretty well for three shots. Do you like to kill things? It seems rather awful to me ... especially in a woman, to slaughter little birds and animals for fun. And I suppose you would raise an awful howl about vivisection." Hermione sat bolt upright. The colour came back to her pale cheeks, and her violet eyes began to darken with anger. All sense of faintness was swept away as if by magic. Applebo was not looking at her; he was standing straight as a young poplar, his shoulder turned to her, sleepily contemplating the marsh. "If you feel that way about it," said Hermione, hotly, "I wonder you came to my rescue." "I was rescuing the game-keeper. Besides, I am under obligation to you people on the _Shark_ for letting me tag you around. What a lovely bit of colour over there, on the other side of the lagoon! Sometimes I wish that I were a painter instead of a poet. However, if I can't paint it I can write an ode to it when I get back aboard my boat." "Why don't you write a satire on women sportsmen?" "That would not be polite. Besides, the idea is not an agreeable one. The thought of Diana has always been unpleasant to me." "You are not very gallant."