"Don't fear," she said; "when I find the man who can make me feel what I want to feel, he will have no cause to complain." "Perhaps you may," Heldstrom retorted. He bent his big brows upon her flushed, resentful face, and his eyes, clear and blue as polar ice, softened a little. "I hope not, my dear. Meanvile, you must not encoorage dese oder yoong men..." "But how am I to know..." Cécile interrupted, when Heldstrom raised his hand. "You vill know. Und if you do not know, den it is not der r'right man." He took a turn or two on the deck, then paused to stare toward the harbour-mouth. Up forward the sailors were clustered about the windlass, talking in low, vehement tones, the murmur of which reached aft. "Less noise for'ard dere," ordered the captain in his great, resonant bass, and the gabble ceased. The hands were all staring toward the entrance, and as he looked forward Heldstrom gave a little growl in his throat. "Dis Pilot-fish..." said he, turning abruptly toward Cécile. "Vas he anudder?" "Another what?" she asked, sulkily. "Anudder wictim. Anudder yoong man you haf made crazy ... und pull your skirt down by your ankles, my dear; you are now too oldt to flop ar'round dot vay like a little girl." Cécile jerked her supple young body upright. "If you are going to do nothing but scold," said she, sulkily, "I am going below." She sprang to her feet and stood as primly as was possible for one of her nymph-like allure. "I must say," she snapped and thrust out her chin haughtily, "it seems to me that I have reached an age where I might expect to be spared lessons in conduct from the sailing-master of my father's yacht." She turned toward the companionway, head in air. "Cécile!" said Heldstrom, sharply, and the little feet stopped as though despite themselves. "Well...?" "You vill say: 'Excuse me, Captain Heldstrom.'" "I won't." "You vill say: 'Excuse me, Captain Heldstrom.'" [Illustration: "You vill say: 'Excuse me, Captain Heldstrom'"] Cécile pressed her lips firmly together. "Look at me." Slowly, and as if moved by some compelling force, the lovely, rebellious face was turned and the long, grey eyes, with their double fringe of black lashes, were raised to meet the clear blue ones flashing from under the bushy eyebrows. Cécile's eyes sought the deck. "Forgive me, Uncle Chris," she murmured. "Dot is efen better, my dear. Listen, Cécile; I am not a poor man und I am getting on in years. My brudder has left me lands und houses in Norvay und I own in some big ships. But I stay und sail dis old yoonk for your fadder und draw my pay vich is nodding, und vy? Because if I go, who den vill take care of my little girls? Your fadder is not rich; perhaps he is not so rich as me, but you are my family und all dot I have is yours, yoost as I am yours. Und so, my little girl, I talk to you like a Dootch uncle, und I am not Dootch, but Norwegian und a gentleman born. Dot is all, my dear."