eleven
o'clock
My expectation had been half a hope , though I only knew it now . But neither did we touch again on what Raffles professed to have forgotten -- my `` apostasy , '' my `` lapse into virtue , '' as he had been pleased to call it . We were both a little silent , a little constrained , each preoccupied with his own thoughts . It was months since we had met , and , as I saw him off towards eleven o'clock that Sunday night , I fancied it was for more months that we were saying good-by . But as we waited for the train I saw those clear eyes peering at me under the station lamps , and when I met their glance Raffles shook his head . `` You do n't look well on it , Bunny , '' said he . `` I never did believe in this Thames Valley .