ten o'clock
The flame retreats to some remote and platonic fire ; the white heat has gone from the iron and the glow from the coal . Along the shelves of Anthony 's library , filling a wall amply , crept a chill and insolent pencil of sunlight touching with frigid disapproval Thérèse of France and Ann the Superwoman , Jenny of the Orient Ballet and Zuleika the Conjurer -- and Hoosier Cora -- then down a shelf and into the years , resting pityingly on the over-invoked shades of Helen , Thaïs , Salome , and Cleopatra . Anthony , shaved and bathed , sat in his most deeply cushioned chair and watched it until at the steady rising of the sun it lay glinting for a moment on the silk ends of the rug -- and went out . It was ten o'clock . The Sunday Times , scattered about his feet , proclaimed by rotogravure and editorial , by social revelation and sporting sheet , that the world had been tremendously engrossed during the past week in the business of moving toward some splendid if somewhat indeterminate goal . For his part Anthony had been once to his grandfather 's , twice to his broker 's , and three times to his tailor 's -- and in the last hour of the week 's last day he had kissed a very beautiful and charming girl . When he reached home his imagination had been teeming with high pitched , unfamiliar dreams .