eleven o'clock
From group to group flashed Mrs. Carey , and her lips and eyes were less eloquent than the clinging touch of her arm , which was almost a caress , as she left or tried to leave her impression of sympathy and admiration on one after another of the Royalists . Two men she avoided , instinctively and deliberately -- Geoffrey Ripon and Sir John Dacre . Calculating , cool , unprincipled as she was , she feared to meet the eyes of these two men , whose very lives she had undermined and sold . It was eleven o'clock and most of the ladies had gone , when the beautiful woman , attended by Featherstone , drew her soft cloak round her in her carriage and gave her hand , without a glove , to be kissed by the big colonel , bending in the doorway . `` Your driver knows where to go ? '' asked Featherstone , closing the door . `` Oh , yes ; straight home , '' answered Mrs. Carey , smiling ; `` good-night . ''