midnight
To try to give an idea of the anguish endured by a woman who might be said to be the spoilt child of civilization , would be to attempt to say how many imaginings the heart can condense into one thought . As well endeavour to measure the forces expended by the soul in a sigh whenever the bell rang ; to estimate the drain of life when a carriage rolled past without stopping , and left her prostrate . `` Can he be playing with me ? '' she said , as the clocks struck midnight . She grew white ; her teeth chattered ; she struck her hands together and leapt up and crossed the boudoir , recollecting as she did so how often he had come thither without a summons . But she resigned herself . Had she not seen him grow pale , and start up under the stinging barbs of irony ?