a quarter to eight
He turned the jewel of memory , and facet by facet it wounded him with its brilliant loveliness . This pain , though it was keen , was half pleasure . Presently he heard his wife stirring . She opened the door of the room next to his , and he heard her : ` Frank , it 's a quarter to eight . You _ will _ be late . ' ` All right , Mother . Why did n't you call me sooner ? '