eleven in the morning
The future looked almost as dark as the London days . As she lay upon the French bed , or reclined upon the sofa , or sat deep in her arm-chair , she envisaged an awful change , when the Avenue Henri Martin would know her no more , when she might have to return to the lair in Philadelphia from which Miss Van Tuyn had summoned her to take charge of Beryl . One day , when she was almost brooding over the fire , between five and six o'clock in the afternoon , the door opened and Beryl appeared . She had been out since eleven in the morning . But that was nothing new . She went out very often about half-past ten and scarcely ever came back to lunch . `` Fanny ! ''