eleven o'clock
She lay there , her face buried in the pillow , until the sputtering exhaust of the Abbey cruiser growing fainter and more faint told her they were gone . She heard her husband walk through the house once after that . When dinner was served , he was not there . It was eleven o'clock by the time-piece on her mantel when she heard him come in , but he did not come to their room . He went quietly into the guest chamber across the hall . She waited through a leaden period . Then , moved by an impulse she did not attempt to define , a mixture of motives , pity for him , a craving for the outlet of words , a desire to set herself right before him , she slipped on a dressing robe and crossed the hall .