Eight o'clock
The ring-dove was gone , a thing of mystery lay there instead -- unresisting , motionless , white . Now and then Paul looked at her half in fear . Was she real ? Was it some dream , and would he wake in his room at Verdayne Place among the sporting prints and solid Chippendale furniture to hear Tompson saying , `` Eight o'clock , sir , and a fine day '' ? Oh , no , no , she was real ! He raised himself , and bent down to touch her tenderly with his forefinger . Yes , all this fascination was indeed his , living and breathing and warm , and he was her lover and lord .