twelve o'clock
`` Come any time after to-morrow night , please , '' she smiled encouragingly , as she turned toward the stage . Behind her , Arkwright stumbled twice as he walked up the incline toward the outer door -- stumbled , not because of the semi-darkness of the little theatre , but because of the blinding radiance of a girl 's illumined face which he had , a moment before , read all unknowingly exactly wrong . A little more than twenty-four hours later , Billy Neilson , in her own room , drew a long breath of relief . It was twelve o'clock on the night of the twentieth , and the operetta was over . To Billy , life was eminently worth living to-night . Her head did not ache , her throat was not sore , her shoe did not hurt , her dress had been mended so successfully by Aunt Hannah , and with such comforting celerity , that long before night one would never have suspected the filmy thing had known the devastating tread of any man 's foot . Better yet , the soprano had sung exactly to key , the alto had shrieked `` Beware ! ''