Twenty minutes past three
They were traveling along between rows of pines , and the road stretched ahead of them , empty and country-looking . She turned and asked sleepily , `` What time is it , Francis , please ? '' He bent a little as he shot his wrist-watch forward enough to look at the phosphorescent dial . `` Twenty minutes past three , '' he said as if it was the most commonplace hour in the world to be driving through a country road . For a moment she did not take it in . Then she threw dignity to the winds . She was rested enough to have some fight in her again .