Their eyes met and clung for an instant. Those of the poet were like aquamarines, but in Hermione's there was a mistiness not of the sea. They faltered, dropped, then raised to his as if drawn by some subtle force. "Good-bye..." said the poet. "Good-bye ... and ... and thank you very much for ... for your kindness..." She paused, startled at a sudden clear flame, the same amber light that had been in the yellow eyes when Applebo had turned to her after flinging to earth the game-keeper. "You darling...!" cried the deep, throaty voice, and before Hermione knew what was happening, she felt herself drawn closely to him, and a pair of wet, salty lips were crushed for the instant against her own. Her head fell back; her eyes closed; the water swirled about her ears. Then she felt two strong arms supporting her beneath the shoulders, raising her bodily from the jealous grip of the sea. Blindly she took a stroke or two, then looked dazedly at the poet. "You ... you kissed me..." "Yes, Cécile ... it was only good-bye." Hermione could find nothing to say, but indeed there was no time. Up crashed the gig under the powerful strokes of the crew. Heldstrom's anxious eyes had noted the drooping of the red-coiffed head, and his thunderous, "Pull, you lubbers ... pull!" reached the swimmers from a distance. Fortunately, the kiss could not be observed, the two heads having been directly in line during this indiscreet performance. The boat foamed alongside. "Vat's dis ... vat's dis?" cried Heldstrom. He leaned over the gunnel and lifted Hermione aboard, when she sank down on a thwart, a limp, dejected mermaid, gazing mutely at the poet. "Vere is your boat?" demanded Heldstrom. "Vat you mean, svimmin' ar'round in der vater mit dis feller...?" He turned to glare at Applebo ... and his jaw dropped. Hermione saw him pass his hand across his eyes in a dazed sort of way. The poet blinked back at him inscrutably, but it struck Hermione that his face was very white, and she wondered if he had the cramp in his foot again. "You vas ... der Pilot-vish...?" said Heldstrom, in an odd, tremulous voice. "I am Mr. Applebo," answered the poet, in his silky bass. "The game-keeper yonder confiscated Miss Bell's boat. He sneaked around and swiped it. You had better get her aboard before she takes a chill." Heldstrom was still staring in the same dazed, bewildered way. "Vere haf I seen you...?" he demanded. "_Have_ you seen me...?" retorted Applebo. "I don't remember you." Heldstrom seemed to recover himself with an effort. "You comin' mit us?" he asked of Applebo. "No, thanks. I am not tired. I will swim to my yawl." "You won't take a cramp...?" cried Hermione. "Oh, no. That will not return. Good-bye ... and I hope you will be none the worse for your long swim." "Good-bye..." said Hermione, faintly, and added, with the slightest catch in her voice, "and I'm not Cécile ... I'm Hermione!"