nearly one o'clock
he murmured , absently . Mrs. Willoughby , slipping out of her wrap , dropped into a convenient seat . `` Are you still at it ? It 's nearly one o'clock , Harmon . '' Yawning slightly , she wriggled her feet out of her carriage slippers and kicked them under her chair . Willoughby looked up , silently watching her , and a momentary small shadow crept into his face . Yet the shadow , small as it was , could not have been because of any flaw in his wife 's appearance .