Grenfell agreed.
Outside there was a strange peace and quiet. A large crowd waited, but it was silent. It was watching for Beckett.
The street was deliciously cool, and in the broad space beyond Olympia there was only a rumbling sibilant rustle that threaded the dusky trees. The stars shone in a sky of velvet. They found a taxi.
"I'll see you to your door," "Tubby" said.
During the drive very few words were spoken. Lois was concentrating now all her effort on the scene that was to come. She was quite certain of her victory; she felt strong and sure with the confidence that the thrill of the fight had just given her. Above all, she loved Grenfell. It was the first time in her life that she had known love, and now that it had come she was wrapped in the wonder of it, stripped of all her artifices and conceits, as simply and naturally caught by it as any ignorant girl of her grandmother's day.
They were in Duke Street; the car stopped before Hortons.
Grenfell got out.
"Good-night," he said. "I'm so awfully glad you enjoyed it."
"No, you've got to come in. You have, really, 'Tubby.' It's very early—not ten yet. I'll make you some coffee."
He looked for a moment as though he would refuse. Then he nodded his head.