ten minutes past three
Never was time slower in passing . Each minute seemed as long as the dying speech of a tragedian who fancies himself in a death scene . I wanted to use some of these minutes in writing to Robert , but it would be premature to tell him that I was going to look after his cousin and her sister on the trip , as the ladies might abandon it , rather than put up with my society . When ten minutes past three came , and no Starr , I was certain that they would not have me . I could hardly have been gloomier if I 'd been waiting for a surgical operation . But another five minutes brought my confederate , and the first sight of his face sent my spirits up with a bound . `` It 's all right , '' he said .