half after six o'clock
But at noon as he lolled upon his rear veranda , chatting kindly with his wife as she hung the linen of quality upon her drying lines , a lady had knocked upon his door , beautiful and insistent , to wheedle his will from him . It was only a tiny bit of a lawn , she had reiterated imploringly , hardly a constitutional to cut , and there was not one tall fellow in all Hunston whom she would permit to touch it but Hackley . Dead to all flattery as he was , his backbone ran to water at the clinging beauty of her smile , and so incredibly betrayed him into yielding . And now , at hard upon half after six o'clock , post-meridian , the dangerous dews of night already beginning to fall , he leaned against a lamp-post , a physical wreck , with a long block and a half still separating him from the comforts of home . At the next corner but one above rose the red brick Ottoman , its inviting side stretching for many yards down the street towards him . Windows cut it here and there along its length , and over their green silk half-curtains , poured forth a golden light which was hospitality made visible . Yet , so strange are the ways of life , the proprietor of all these luxuries , who stood at the furthest window , beyond Hackley 's range , did not look happy in their possession .