The fact that he had deliberately refused to recognise her seemed a matter of very small moment now that he had spoken to her again--scolding her and enforcing her obedience to his wishes in that oddly masterful way of his, which yet had something of a possessive tenderness about it that appealed irresistibly to the woman in her.
Arrived at the quay of the little harbour, he helped her up the steps, slimy with weed and worn by the ceaseless lapping of the water, and the firm clasp of his hand on hers conveyed a curious sense of security, extending beyond just the mere safety of the moment.

She had a feeling that there was something immutably strong and sure about this man--a calm, steadfast self-reliance to which one could unhesitatingly trust.
His voice broke in abruptly on her thoughts.
"My car's waiting at the quayside," he said.

"I shall drive you back to the Rectory." Diana assented--not, as she thought to herself with a somewhat wry smile, that it would have made the very slightest difference had she refused point-blank.

Since he had decided that she was to travel in his car, travel in it she would, willy-nilly.

But as a matter of fact, she was so tired that she was only too thankful to sink back on to the soft, luxurious cushions of the big limousine.
Errington tucked the rugs carefully round her, substituting one of them for the coat she was wearing, spoke a few words to the chauffeur, and then seated himself opposite her.
Diana thought the car seemed to be travelling rather slowly as it began the steep ascent from the harbour to the Rectory.