With a quick tug and push she had opened the window on her own side before he could stop her.
"Oh, will you drive to 89 Ryder Street first, please," he heard her say. Then she sank back with a pursed-up smile of triumph. "I've no intention of going to bed yet," she explained.
"I've no intention of opening the door till I've taken you home," he rejoined.
She made no answer till the carriage drew up opposite his flat.
"It would be deplorable if you made a scene on the pavement," she observed carelessly.
Then she stepped out and told the driver to go back to Belgrave Square for Mrs. O'Rane.
It was a moon-lit night between half-past eleven and twelve. Ryder Street had roused to life with a widely-spaced but steady stream of men returning to bed from Pall Mall and sparing the fag-end of their attention for the unexpected tall girl who stood wrapped in a long silk shawl in the shadow of a bachelor door-way. The brougham turned round and drove away. Eric lighted another cigarette.
"Am I right in thinking that you're being obstinate?" Barbara enquired after some moments of silence.
"If you want me to take you home, I'll take you home. Otherwise I shall leave you here, go round to the club, explain that I've lost my latch-key and get a bed there."
"You're almost oriental in your hospitality," she laughed.