And she had steered thither, forgetful that there was no dock and no suitable landing place for even so light a boat anywhere along the patch of sandy foreshore.
Now, fast aground, she saw her absent-minded error.

And she jumped to her feet, vainly reversing the engine in an effort to back free of the sand wherein the prow had wedged itself so tightly.

But Gavin Brice had already taken charge of the situation.
Stepping overside into the shallow water, he picked up the astounded and vainly protesting girl, bodily, holding her close to him with one arm, while, with his free hand he caught the painter and dragged the boat behind him into water too low for it to float off until the change of tide.
It was the work of a bare ten seconds, from the time he stepped into the shallows until he had brought Claire to the dry sand of the beach.
"Set me down!" she was demanding sternly, for the third time, as she struggled with futile repugnance to slip from his gently firm grip.

"I--" "Certainly," acquiesced Gavin, lowering her to the sand, and steadying her for an instant, until her feet could find their balance.

"Only please don't glare at me as though I had struck you.