about eleven o'clock
London was illuminated by the broad full moon . The pavements looked white as if mantled with snow ; ordinary houses were sublimated to the rank of public buildings , public buildings to palaces , and the faces of women walking the streets to those of calendared saints and guardian-angels , by the pure bleaching light from the sky . In the quiet little street where opened the private door of the Hall chosen by Ethelberta for her story-telling , a brougham was waiting . The time was about eleven o'clock ; and presently a lady came out from the building , the moonbeams forthwith flooding her face , which they showed to be that of the Story-teller herself . She hastened across to the carriage , when a second thought arrested her motion : telling the man-servant and a woman inside the brougham to wait for her , she wrapped up her features and glided round to the front of the house , where she paused to observe the carriages and cabs driving up to receive the fashionable crowd stepping down from the doors . Standing here in the throng which her own talent and ingenuity had drawn together , she appeared to enjoy herself by listening for a minute or two to the names of several persons of more or less distinction as they were called out , and then regarded attentively the faces of others of lesser degree : to scrutinize the latter was , as the event proved , the real object of the journey from round the corner . When nearly every one had left the doors , she turned back disappointed .