midnight
The boyish note predominated as he talked while he drew , his eyes now smiling , now seriously intent on the sketch which was developing so swiftly under his facile pencil . Marion 's clean-cut blond head was close to his , her supple body twisted in her seat , one bare arm hanging over the back of the chair . Something in her attitude seemed to exclude intrusion ; her voice , too , was hushed in comment , though his was pitched in his naturally agreeable key . Sylvia had taken a hesitating step toward them , but halted , turning irresolutely ; and suddenly over her crept a sensation of isolation -- something of that feeling which had roused her at midnight from her bed and driven her to Grace Ferrall for a refuge from she knew not what . The rustle of her silken dinner gown was scarcely perceptible as she turned . Siward , moving his head slightly , glanced up , then brought his sketch to a brilliant finish . `` Do n't you think something of this sort is practicable ? ''