eight o'clock in
the evening
`` Do n't you ? '' asked Austin . The next night he was in New York with Mr. Stevens , trying hard to feel natural in a tiny flat which was only one of fifty in the same great house . A colored butler served an elaborate dinner at eight o'clock in the evening , and brought black coffee , liqueurs , and cigars into the living-room afterwards , and , worst of all , unpacked all his scanty belongings and laid them about his room . Austin really suffered , and the cold perspiration ran down his back , but he watched his host carefully and waited from one moment to another to see what would be expected of him next ; he managed , too , before he went to bed , to ask a question which had been on his mind for some time . `` Would you mind telling me , sir , where Sylvia 's mother is ? '' Uncle Mat shot one of his keen little glances in Austin 's direction .