eleven o’clock
She thought of the matter again that evening before her little fire of snapping deodar twigs , thought of it intently . She remembered it all with perfect distinctness ; she might have been listening to a telephonic reproduction . It was the almost intimate glimpse Innes had given her of himself , and it brought her an excitement which she did not think of analyzing . She wrung from every sentence its last possibility of unconscious meaning , and she found when she had finished that it was eleven o'clock . Then she went to bed , preferring not to call Brookes , with the somewhat foolish feeling of being unable to account for her evening . Her last reflection before she slept shaped itself in her mind in definite words . ` There are no children , ' it ran , ` and her health has always been good , he says .