about eleven o'clock
As to their bygone history , how they fared out of his sight , or what might become of them , he never gave a thought to anything of the kind -- never felt the pull of one of the bonds of brotherhood , laughed at them the moment they were gone , or , if a woman 's story had touched him , wiped his eyes with an oath , and thought himself too good a fellow for this world . Since his retirement from the more indolent life of the metropolis to the quieter and more active pursuits of the country , his character had bettered a little -- inasmuch as it was a shade more accessible to spiritual influences ; the hard soil had in a few places cracked a hair 's breadth , and lay thus far open to the search of those sun rays which , when they find the human germ , that is , the conscience , straightway begin to sting it into life . To this betterment the company of his daughter had chiefly contributed ; for if she was little more developed in the right direction than himself she was far less developed in the wrong , and the play of affection between them was the divinest influence that could as yet be brought to bear upon either ; but certain circumstances of late occurrence had had a share in it , occasioning a revival of old memories which had a considerably sobering effect upon him . As he sat at breakfast , about eleven o'clock on the morning after his return , one of his English servants entered with the message that a person , calling herself Miss Horn , and refusing to explain her business desired to see his lordship for a few minutes `` Who is she ? '' asked the marquis . The man did not know . `` What is she like ? ''