The New Men by C.P. Snow

Smith decided that we ought to take the news at once to Bevill and Rose. I followed him down the corridor to Rose's room, where, as Smith began a preamble about having a ‘confab', I glanced out of the window into the dark and muggy twilight, with the lights already shining (although it was only half past six on a September evening) from windows in Birdcage Walk.

Bland behind his desk, Rose was bringing Smith to the point, but, as he did so, there was a familiar step outside, a step brisk and active, which did not sound like an old man pretending to be young – and Bevill came in, with a flushed happy look. He left the door open, and in a moment Martin entered.