a quarter to eleven o'clock
The streets were noisy , and conversation was well-nigh impossible . When they got out , Cynthia paid the cabman and dismissed him . Her father walked forward , glancing round him suspiciously as he went . It was a quarter to eleven o'clock . Cynthia joined him in a dark corner of the great entrance-hall . `` I will take your ticket , '' she said , `` where will you go ? '' Westwood hesitated for a moment .