five o'clock
One August afternoon Ida had , for once in a way , succeeded in making her domestic occupations an excuse for absenting herself from what Bessie called a ` barrow-hunt ' on the downs . Brian Wendover being a great authority upon this ancient form of sepulture , and discoursing eloquently on those widely different races whose funeral chambers are hidden under the long and the round barrow . The day , closely as Ida had been occupied , had seemed just a little dreary , certainly much duller than such days had been wont to seem before Brian 's return to the Abbey : yet she was glad to be alone ; it was a relief even to be a trifle melancholy , rather than to enjoy that happiness which was always blended with a faint consciousness of wrong-doing . And now the slow day was nearly over : she had worked at the village girls ' - school in the morning ; she had lectured upon domestic economy to a class of incipient house-maids and scullery maids after luncheon ; and now at five o'clock she was sitting in a basket chair in the rose-wreathed verandah working at the swallows and bulrushes upon that elaborate design which she had begun before Christmas for the adornment of Miss Wendover 's piano . It was a deliciously drowsy afternoon , but Ida 's active brain was not prone to slumber . She sat working diligently and thinking deeply , when a shadow came between her and the sunshine and on looking up she saw Mr. Wendover standing before her . ` How do you do ?