one o'clock
When Emeline 's mother and sisters came to call , Emeline showed them her gold-framed pictures , her curly-maple bed and bureau , her glass closet in the dining-room , with its curved glass front and sides and its shining contents -- berry saucers and almond dishes in pressed glass , and other luxuries to which the late Miss Cox had been entirely a stranger . Emeline was intoxicated with the freedom and the pleasures of her new life ; George was out of town two or three nights a week , but when he was at home the two slept late of mornings , and loitered over their breakfast , Emeline in a loose wrapper , filling and refilling her coffee cup , while George rattled the paper and filled the room with the odour of cigarettes . Then Emeline was left to put her house in order , and dress herself for the day -- her corsets laced tight at the waist , her black hair crimped elaborately above her bang , her pleated skirts draped fashionably over her bustle . George would come back at one o'clock to take her to lunch , and after lunch they wandered up and down Kearney and Market streets , laughing and chatting , glad just to be alive and together . Sometimes they dined downtown , too , and afterward went to the `` Tivoli '' or `` Morosco 's , '' or even the Baldwin Theatre , and sometimes bought and carried home the materials for a dinner , and invited a few of George 's men friends to enjoy it with them . These were happy times ; Emeline , flushed and pretty in her improvised apron , queened it over the three or four adoring males , and wondered why other women fussed so long over cooking , when men so obviously enjoyed a steak , baked potatoes , canned vegetables , and a pie from Swain 's . After dinner the men always played poker , a mild little game at first , with Emeline eagerly guarding a little pile of chips , and gasping over every hand like a happy child ; but later more seriously , when Emeline , contrary to poker superstition , sat on the arm of her husband 's chair , to bring him luck .