about midnight
I thought her reply over , and wondered if it was the usual habit of literary people to go out on those foraging expeditions and bring back material to be used up in weeks of solitude . We were either out among friends , at concerts , lectures , evening gatherings , or else receiving Mr. Winthrop 's particular friends at our hotel , every evening . I enjoyed those evenings at home , I think , the very best of all . We sat late , supper being served about midnight -- a plain , sensible repast that , with a man of Mr. Winthrop 's means , might certainly betoken high thinking . However , the intellectual repast served to us reminded me of the feasts of the gods , or even better , in old Homeric times . There were condensed thoughts that often kept me puzzling over their meanings long after their words had died on the air . Mrs. Flaxman sat , a mostly silent listener , but in no wise showing weariness at the lateness of the hour , or mental strain imposed in following such abstract lines of thought .