ten in the morning
`` This is sheer Bolshevism , '' he said . `` Is not my soul my own ? '' `` We shall start , '' said Daphne , `` in twenty minutes . '' It was nearly half-past ten in the morning of a beautiful summer day , and we were all taking our ease in the sunshine upon the terrace . It was the first Sunday which we had spent all together at White Ladies for nearly five years . So far as the eye could see , nothing had changed . At the foot of the steps the great smooth lawn stretched like a fine green carpet , its shadowed patches yet bright with dew .