eleven o'clock
`` Oh , for a maid , '' she sighed , as she wrestled with the mattress , and `` Oh , for dear Babette , '' she sighed again , as she wrestled with the masses of her hair . And the tent was filled with a blaze of light , as , wrapped in her bath-gown , she stood in front of the steel mirror , plaiting and unplaiting , twisting and pinning her hair , until with an exclamation of impatience she let it all down , holding great strands out at arm 's length , through which she passed the comb again and again , until the red-gold mass shone , and curled , and rippled about her like a cloak of satin . It is hopeless to try and describe the shining , waving masses which curled round her knees , and fluttered in tendrils round her face , and it would have been hard to find anything anywhere so beautiful as Jill when , clad in the loose silk garment and soft satin wrapper , with her perfumed hair swirling about her , she stood entranced at the opening of her tent , until the sun suddenly disappearing left her in darkness , whereupon she clapped her hands quickly . Jill had finished the first of many evening meals she was to partake of in the desert , and was lying on a heap of cushions listening to the clink of brass coffee utensils and porcelain cups , whilst sniffing appreciatively the aroma of Eastern coffee Easternly made , which is totally different to that which permeates the dim recesses draped with tinselled dusty hangings , and cluttered with Eastern stools and tables inlaid with mother o ' pearl made in Birmingham , in the ubiquitous Oriental Cafe at which we meet the rest of us at eleven o'clock on Saturday morning at the seaside ; nor does it resemble in the slightest that which is oilily poured forth in London town by the fat , oily , so-called `` Son of the Crescent '' who , wearing fez and baggy trousers , in some caravanserai West , Sou ' - west or Nor ' - west , has unfailingly been chief coffee-maker to the late Sultan , _ vide _ anyway the hotel advertisements . She was smiling as she lay stretched full length with her chin in her palms , thinking of the meal just eaten . Whilst waiting for it she had imagined a mess of pottage perhaps , or stewed kid as _ pièce de résistance _ , with honey or manna as sweets , and a savoury of fried locusts , which she , with many others , imagined to be the all-devouring insect . She knew by now , and returned thanks , that the man neither ate with his mouth open nor gave precedence to his fingers and teeth over knives and forks , but in her wildest dreams she had never imagined that such exquisite things , served in such an exquisite way , could be laid before her in a desert .