six o'clock P.M.
I dare say you have never been in a position to notice that there is no pawn-shop on Mitten Island . The inhabitants of model villages always have assured incomes and pose as lilies of the field . Sarah Brown and her hostess sat down on the counter without regret to a luncheon consisting of one orange , found by the guest in her bag and divided , and two thin captain biscuits from stock . They were both used to dissolving visions of impossible chops , both were cheerfully familiar with the feeling of light tragedy which invades you towards six o'clock P.M. , if you have not been able to afford a meal since breakfast . `` Now look here , '' said Sarah Brown , as she plunged her pocket-knife into the orange . `` Would you mind telling me -- are you a fairy , or a third-floor-back , or anything of that sort ? I wo n't register it , or put it on the case-paper , I promise , though if you are superhuman in any way I shall be seriously tempted . ''