seven o'clock
Ferrand hazarded an inference , but he was a foreigner . The Englishman preferred to look upon the preacher as guided by a purely abstract love of beauty . His eloquence , at any rate , was unquestionable , and Shelton came out feeling sick . It was not yet seven o'clock , so , entering an Italian restaurant to kill the half-hour before Antonia 's arrival , he ordered a bottle of wine for his companion , a cup of coffee for himself , and , lighting a cigarette , compressed his lips . There was a strange , sweet sinking in his heart . His companion , ignorant of this emotion , drank his wine , crumbled his roll , and blew smoke through his nostrils , glancing caustically at the rows of little tables , the cheap mirrors , the hot , red velvet , the chandeliers . His juicy lips seemed to be murmuring , `` Ah !