She would not feel safe until she was actually on the road.
The boat bumped at last against the bank, and she drew a breath of relief.

The journey had seemed interminable.
Suddenly through the windy darkness there came to them the hoot of a motor-horn.
"That's all right," said Brandon cheerily.

"That's Fricker, wanting to know if all's well." He hurried her over the wet grass, skirted the house by a side-path that ran between dripping laurels, and brought her out finally into the little front garden.
A glare of acetylene lamps met them abruptly as they emerged, dazzling them for the moment.

The buzz of a motor engine also greeted them, and a smell of petrol hung in the wet air.
As her eyes accustomed themselves to the brightness, Doris made out a small closed motor-car, with a masked chauffeur seated at the wheel.
"Good little Fricker!" said Brandon, slapping the chauffeur's shoulder as he passed.

"So you've got your steam up! Straight ahead then, and as fast as you like.