ten o'clock
It was a night of enchantment , and the hotel and its grounds on the dark background of the night were like the stately pleasure-house in `` Kubla Khan . '' But the season was drawing to an end . The hotels , which could not find room for the throngs on Saturday night , say , were nearly empty on Monday , so easy are pleasure-seekers frightened away by a touch of cold , forgetting that in such a resort the most enjoyable part of the year comes with the mellow autumn days . That night at ten o'clock the band was scraping away in the deserted parlor , with not another person in attendance , without a single listener . Miss Lamont happened to peep through the window-blinds from the piazza and discover this residuum of gayety . The band itself was half asleep , but by sheer force of habit it kept on , the fiddlers drawing the perfunctory bows , and the melancholy clarionet men breathing their expressive sighs . It was a dismal sight .