"Christian Heldstrom was never a 'common' anything!" replied Hermione, with some heat. "But so far as that goes, he was born of a good, though poor, Norwegian family and went to sea because he liked it and had to do something. I know very little about his early history. He does not like to talk about it. Why does it interest you? Are you--like some other people whom I have known--so snobbish as to be shocked that three young ladies should have been nursed and tended and taught deportment by their father's Norwegian sailing-master? Let me tell you, his manners are far better than papa's ... and papa is an F.F.V.!" She looked at him truculently. Nothing could arouse Hermione to such quick and torrid resentment as any slight on her beloved "Uncle Chris." Wherefore, she turned her dark, violet eyes challengingly upon the poet. "You look like a Scandinavian yourself," said she. "My mother," replied Applebo, "was a cousin to the King of Sweden." Hermione stopped short to stare at him. Her eyes opened very wide, also her carmine lips were slightly farther apart than strict deportment would approve. "Really...?" she cried. "And your father...?" "She married beneath her. It was an infatuation followed by a wedding and an elopement. Of course, she sacrificed her rank. They came to America. It is a long story, and both of my parents are now dead. Applebo is the name of an uncle who made me his heir ... he was a Swede. I don't know why I am telling you all of this; perhaps it is because I don't want you to think that I am a snob. I would rather you did not tell anybody, if you don't mind." "Of course not!" replied Hermione. "But I would like to hear more." "Just now your own affairs are more important. You had better get back aboard as soon as possible or your sailing-master may put you in the brig. What would he say if he saw you walking on the beach with me? It's rather a delicate situation ... considering my unsolicited attentions of the past three months." Hermione's piquant face took on a very rich tone of red. Without answering, she began to walk rapidly toward the beach ... so rapidly, in fact, that the first few steps carried her on in advance of her companion, who seemed tranquilly determined to set the pace himself. Hermione glanced back over her shoulder. "Since you are in such a hurry to get rid of me," she said, "why don't you hurry?" "I was admiring your walk. It must be a family accomplishment ... inherited from your mother, no doubt. Your father walks like a duck." "Thank you ... on the part of all of us. Does my walk remind you of Hermione?" "Not in the least. Hermione walks like a gossamer borne by the breeze." "And I stump along like a watch-officer."