nearly twelve o'clock
He had been amply repaid for all the hours he had spent in the close sale-room . His luck had turned at last : he was going to succeed ; he felt it in the air , as if he were already fanned by Fortune 's pinions . Still thinking of Sylvia , he let himself into the semi-detached , old-fashioned house on the north side of Vincent Square , where he had lodged for some years . It was nearly twelve o'clock , and his landlady , Mrs. Rapkin , and her husband had already gone to bed . Ventimore went up to his sitting-room , a comfortable apartment with two long windows opening on to a trellised verandah and balcony -- a room which , as he had furnished and decorated it himself to suit his own tastes , had none of the depressing ugliness of typical lodgings . It was quite dark , for the season was too mild for a fire , and he had to grope for the matches before he could light his lamp . After he had done so and turned up the wicks , the first object he saw was the bulbous , long-necked jar which he had bought that afternoon , and which now stood on the stained boards near the mantelpiece .