four o’clock
in the afternoon
There was also Mr. Wormwood , the noli-me-tangere of literary lions -- an author who sowed his conversation not with flowers but thorns . Nobody could accuse him of the flattery generally imputed to his species ; through the course of a long and varied life , he had never once been known to say a civil thing . He was too much disliked not to be recherche ; whatever is once notorious , even for being disagreeable , is sure to be courted in England . Opposite to him sat the really clever , and affectedly pedantic Lord Vincent , one of those persons who have been `` promising young men '' all their lives ; who are found till four o'clock in the afternoon in a dressing-gown , with a quarto before them ; who go down into the country for six weeks every session , to cram an impromptu reply ; and who always have a work in the press which is never to be published . Lady Nelthorpe herself I had frequently seen . She had some reputation for talent , was exceedingly affected , wrote poetry in albums , ridiculed her husband , who was a fox hunter , and had a great penchant pour les beaux arts et les beaux hommes . There were four or five others of the unknown vulgar , younger brothers , who were good shots and bad matches ; elderly ladies , who lived in Baker-street , and liked long whist ; and young ones , who never took wine , and said `` Sir . ''