six o'clock
` Jean ! ' he called upon so stern a note that people stared and stopped . Others -- not Jean . A little before six o'clock on that same Sunday , Jean Dunbarton opened the communicating door between her own little sitting-room and the big bare drawing-room of her grandfather 's house in Eaton Square . She stood a moment on the threshold , looking back over her shoulder , and then crossed the drawing-room , treading softly on the parquet spaces between the rugs . She went straight to the window , and was in the act of parting the lace curtains to look out , when she heard the folding doors open . With raised finger she turned to say ` Sh ! '