noon
-- silence to him to whom words of her dictation , however few and terse and filtered through no matter how many indifferent mediums of intelligence , would have been precious beyond expression . So it was that , as hour followed hour and the tale of them lengthened into days , he fell into a temper of morbid brooding that was little like the man , and instead of faring abroad and seeking what amusement he might find in the most carefree city of the post-War world , shut himself up in his rooms and moped , indifferent to all things but the knocks at his door , the stridulation of the telephone bell that might announce the arrival of the desired message . And so it was that , when the telephone did ring -- at last ! -- towards noon of that third day , he fairly stumbled over himself in his haste to reach the instrument . But the animation with which he answered the professional voice at the other end of the wire faded very quickly , the look of weariness returned , his accents voiced an indifference fairly desolating . `` Yes ? ... Oh , yes ... Very well ... Yes , at once . ''