Granted ten years' seniority and a difference of sex, fear of him comes first; this is swallowed up by a desire to help--overwhelming sense, reason, and the time of night; anger would follow close on that--with Florinda, with destiny; and then up would bubble an irresponsible optimism.

"Surely there's enough light in the street at this moment to drown all our cares in gold!" Ah, what's the use of saying it?
Even while you speak and look over your shoulder towards Shaftesbury Avenue, destiny is chipping a dent in him.

He has turned to go.

As for following him back to his rooms, no--that we won't do.
Yet that, of course, is precisely what one does.

He let himself in and shut the door, though it was only striking ten on one of the city clocks.