the hour of twelve
She took off my cloak , and went upstairs reluctantly , carrying my jewel box . I walked into the drawing-room , which was lighted and looked very bright and charming , with its many flowers and framed photographs , and the delightful Louis Quinze furniture , which I had so enjoyed picking up here and there at antique shops or at private sales . I flung myself on the sofa , but I could not rest . In a moment I was up again , moving about , looking at the clock , comparing it with my watch , wondering what could have happened to make Ivor fail in keeping his promise to be prompt on the hour of twelve . Of course , a hundred harmless things might have kept him , but I thought only of the worst , and was working myself up to a frenzy when at last I heard the gate-bell . I had been in the house no more than twelve or fourteen minutes , but it seemed an hour , and I gave a sob of relief as I rushed out , down the garden path , to let my visitor in . Fumbling a little at the lock , always a little difficult if one were in a hurry , I asked myself what if , as Marianne had suggested , it were not Ivor Dundas , but someone else -- Raoul , perhaps -- or the man who had been in her mind : Godensky .