six at night
And just at the edge of the woodland , before they were out of sight , the girl turned and threw a kiss back to the roses and the box . `` I always do that , '' she said . `` I love them so ! '' Two weeks later a great train rolled into the Grand Central Station of New York at half-past six at night , and from it stepped a monstrosity -- a young man without a heart . He had left all of it , more than he had thought he owned , in Kentucky . But he had brought back with him memories which gave him more joy than ever the heart had done , to his best knowledge , in all the years . They were memories of long and sunshiny days ; of afternoons spent in the saddle , rushing through grassy lanes where trumpet-flowers flamed over gray farm fences , or trotting slowly down white roads ; of whole mornings only an hour long , passed in the enchanted stillness of an old garden ; of gay , desultory searches through its length and breadth , and in the park that held it , for buried treasure : of moonlit nights ; of roses and June and Kentucky -- and always , through all the memories , the presence that made them what they were , that of a girl he loved .