nine
o'clock
Reader , Mr. Trevanion has been half an hour seated in our little drawing-room . He has received two cups of tea from my mother 's fair hand ; he has made himself at home . With Mr. Trevanion has come another friend of my father 's , whom he has not seen since he left college , -- Sir Sedley Beaudesert . Now , you must understand that it is a warm night , a little after nine o'clock , -- a night between departing summer and approaching autumn . The windows are open ; we have a balcony , which my mother has taken care to fill with flowers ; the air , though we are in London , is sweet and fresh ; the street quiet , except that an occasional carriage or hackney cabriolet rolls rapidly by ; a few stealthy passengers pass to and fro noiselessly on their way homeward . We are on classic ground , -- near that old and venerable Museum , the dark monastic pile which the taste of the age had spared then , -- and the quiet of the temple seems to hallow the precincts . Captain Roland is seated by the fire-place , and though there is no fire , he is shading his face with a hand-screen ; my father and Mr. Trevanion have drawn their chairs close to each other in the middle of the room ; Sir Sedley Beaudesert leans against the wall near the window , and behind my mother , who looks prettier and more pleased than usual since her Austin has his old friends about him ; and I , leaning my elbow on the table and my chin upon my hand , am gazing with great admiration on Sir Sedley Beaudesert .