about six o'clock
Stratton drew a heavy , catching breath , and lay back in his chair , while Guest opened the book he had taken at random , and read from it half a dozen romances which he made up as he went on . For he could not see a word of the printed matter , and in each of these romances his friend was the hero , who was being hunted to desperation by some woman with whom he had become entangled . From time to time he glanced across at his friend as the hours glided by , hoping to see that he slept ; but he always caught a glimpse of a pair of eager eyes watching him . At last , about six o'clock , faint , weary , and oppressed by the terrible silence in the room , Guest laid down the book . `` Going ? '' said Stratton eagerly . `` No .