Saturday night, 11 p.m.
But with the morning came consolation . Her maid , when she called her , brought in the letters as usual . Among them , one in a large familiar hand . She opened it eagerly , and it ran : -- `` Saturday night , 11 p.m. `` MY DEAR CYNTHIA : -- I was so sorry to find when I went to the drawing-room just now that you had gone home . I wanted if possible to walk part of the way with you , and to tell you a few things myself . For you are one of my oldest friends , and I greatly value your sympathy and counsel . But the confusion and bewilderment of the last few hours have been such -- you will understand !