eleven o'clock
`` I do n't know , I have n't heard anything . I 'll ask Mrs. Boyer . '' During the interval it took for a whispered colloquy in the bedroom , and for Mrs. Boyer to don her flannel wrapper , Peter suffered the tortures of the damned . Whatever Mrs. Boyer had meant to say by way of protest at the intrusion on the sacred privacy of eleven o'clock and bedtime died in her throat . Her plump and terraced chin shook with agitation , perhaps with guilt . Peter , however , had got himself in hand . He told a quiet story ; Boyer listened ; Mrs. Boyer , clutching her wrapper about her unstayed figure , listened .