six o'clock
The very word was refreshing , was like clear water on a thirsty day . One American , even one , coming in that afternoon would have seemed to Mr. Twist a godsend , a purifier , an emollient -- like some blessed unction dropped from above . But none appeared ; not even Mr. Ridding . At six o'clock it was quite dark , and obviously too late to go on hoping . The days in California end abruptly . The sun goes down , and close on its heels comes night . In the tea-room the charmingly shaded lights had been turned on some time , and Mr. Twist , watching from the partly open door of his office , waited impatiently for the guests to begin to thin out .