half past eight
In that flash of time she had passed , and the very liveliness of his interest , combined with the urchin 's consecrated awe -- not to mention his own mortifying remembrance of one or two other-day lapses from the austerities of the old street -- restrained him from a backward glance until he could cross the way as if to enter the great , white , lately completed court-house . Then both she and her satellite had vanished . He turned again , but not to enter the building . His watch read but half past eight , and his first errand of the day , unless seeing her had been his first , was to go one square farther on , for a look at the wreckers tearing down the old Hotel St. Louis . As he turned , a man neat of dress and well beyond middle age made him a suave gesture . `` Sir , if you please . You are , I think , Mr. Chester , notary public and attorney at law ? ''