eight o'clock
A slender string of pearls gleamed softly on the satiny skin , but Maud Barrington wore no other adornment , and did not need it . She had inherited the Courthorne comeliness , and the Barringtons she sprang from on her father 's side had always borne the stamp of distinction . A young girl sat at the piano singing in a thin reedy voice , while an English lad waited with the ill-concealed jealousy of a too officious companion to turn over the music by her side . Other men , mostly young , with weather-bronzed faces , picturesque in embroidered deerskin or velvet lounge jackets , were scattered about the room , and all were waiting for the eight o'clock dinner , which replaced the usual prairie supper at Silverdale . They were growers of wheat who combined a good deal of amusement with a little , not very profitable , farming , and most of them possessed a large share of insular English pride and a somewhat depleted exchequer . Presently Dane crossed over , and sat down by Colonel Barrington . `` You are silent , sir , and not looking very well to-night , '' he said .