"But you?--" she faltered, looking at the thin silk of his shirt.

"I'm not a lady with a beautiful voice that must be taken care of. What
would Signor Baroni say to this afternoon's exploit?"

"Oh, then you haven't forgotten?" Diana asked curiously.

The intensely blue eyes swept over her face.

"No," he replied shortly, "I haven't forgotten."

In silence he helped her into the boat, and she sat quietly in the stern
as he bent to his oars and sent the little skiff speeding homewards
towards the harbour.

She felt strangely content. 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.