About one o'clock
Every word Mrs. Morrison -- a dreadful woman , yet dreadful as she was still a thousand times better than herself -- every word she had said , every one of those bitter words at which she had been so indignant the morning before , was true , was justified . That day Priscilla tore the last shreds of self-satisfaction from her soul and sat staring at it with horrified eyes as at a thing wholly repulsive , dangerous , blighting . What was to become of her , and of poor Fritzing , dragged down by her to an equal misery ? About one o'clock she heard Mrs. Morrison 's voice below , in altercation apparently with him . At this time she was crying again ; bitter , burning tears ; those scorching tears that follow in the wake of destroyed illusions , that drop , hot and withering , on to the fragments of what was once the guiding glory of an ideal . She was brought so low , was so humbled , so uncertain of herself , that she felt it would bring her peace if she might go down to Mrs. Morrison and acknowledge all her vileness ; tell her how wrong she had been , ask her forgiveness for her rudeness , beg her for pity , for help , for counsel . She needed some kind older woman , -- oh she needed some kind older woman to hold out cool hands of wisdom and show her the way .