five o'clock
`` Your loving `` MARGERY PENDYCE . '' And this note , which was just what she would have sent to a lover , took that form , perhaps unconsciously , because she had never had a lover thus to write to . She slipped the note and half a crown diffidently into the porter 's hand ; refused his offer of some tea , and walked vaguely towards the Park . It was five o'clock ; the sun was brighter than ever . People in carriages and people on foot in one leisurely , unending stream were filing in at Hyde Park Corner . Mrs. Pendyce went , too , and timidly -- she was unused to traffic -- crossed to the further side and took a chair . Perhaps George was in the Park and she might see him ; perhaps Helen Bellew was there , and she might see her ; and the thought of this made her heart beat and her eyes under their uplifted brows stare gently at each figure-old men and young men , women of the world , fresh young girls .