midnight
Late that night Selwyn lay in his bed and listened to the softened tones of his two guests conversing in the living-room , Johnston Smyth having conceived such an attachment to his newly found friend that it was quite impossible to persuade him to leave . At his own request , blankets had been spread for Durwent on the floor , and after a hot bath he had rolled up for the night close to the fire . Johnston Smyth had also disdained the offer of a bed and ensconced himself on the couch , where he lay on his back and uttered vagrant philosophies on a vast number of subjects . Wishing his strangely assorted guests a good night 's repose , Selwyn had retired to his own room shortly after midnight , but , tired as he was , sleep refused to come . Like an etcher planning a series of scenes to be depicted , his mind summoned the various incidents of the night in a tedious cycle . The huddled figure at the foot of Cleopatra 's steps ; the fantastic airiness of Smyth with his shredded umbrella ; the smoky atmosphere of Archibald 's , with its strange gathering of derelicts ; the two chance acquaintances spending the night in the adjoining room -- what vivid , disjointed cameos they were ! If there was such a thing as Fate , what meaning could there be in their having met ?