A quarter to twelve
One , the mistress of the house , is seated at the writing-table with her back to the room , scribbling off invitations for dear life , cards for an afternoon `` at-home , '' at the rate of six per minute ; the other sits idle in a low basket-chair doing nothing . There is no sound but the scratching of the quill pen as it flies over the paper , and the chirping of a bullfinch in a cage in the bow-window . `` What time is it , Vera ? '' `` A quarter to twelve . '' `` Almost time to dress ; I 've only ten more cards to fill up . What are you going to wear -- white ? '' Vera shivers .