seven o’clock
For a few minutes Margery could hardly be called excited ; she was excitement itself . Between surprise and modesty she blushed and trembled by turns . She became grave , sat down in the solitary room , and looked into the fire . At seven o'clock she rose resolved , and went quite tranquilly upstairs , where she speedily began to dress . In making this hasty toilet nine-tenths of her care were given to her hands . The summer had left them slightly brown , and she held them up and looked at them with some misgiving , the fourth finger of her left hand more especially . Hot washings and cold washings , certain products from bee and flower known only to country girls , everything she could think of , were used upon those little sunburnt hands , till she persuaded herself that they were really as white as could be wished by a husband with a hundred titles .