ten o’clock in the evening
Two or three days later he was almost reestablished , and had indeed begun to write a little . He would not yet go to the theatre , however , having some fear of the excitement . He sat alone in the sitting-room which he and his chum occupied in common , dreaming of Barbara over a book , and building cloud palaces . It was ten o'clock in the evening , and Carl would not be home till midnight . Then ` who was this dashing tumultuously up the stone steps after Carl 's accustomed fashion ? Carl himself , it seemed , but unlike himself , pale and breathless , and with an ugly scratch across his forehead which looked at first sight like a severe wound . ` What 's the matter ? '