nine
o'clock
Although she did not realise it , what Paul Stepaside had said to her had altered the whole outlook of her life . A heap of letters lay on the breakfast-table , but they were all for her father . A servant moved quietly round the room , arranging for their morning meal , while she stood listlessly looking over the garden . It was now nine o'clock , and her father always came punctually to the minute . The clock on the mantelpiece had barely ceased striking when he came into the room . He kissed her perfunctorily , and then turned to his letters . `` Nothing important , Mary .