six o'clock
It was nine o'clock when Viola stepped out into her front yard , reticule in hand , and sauntered slowly down the walk , stopping now and then to inspect some Maytime shoot . He was waiting for her outside his own gate . `` What a sleepy-head you are , '' was her greeting as she came up to him . `` I 've been up since six o'clock , '' he said . `` Then , for goodness ' sake , why have you kept me waiting all this time ? '' `` My dear Viola , I was not born yesterday , nor yet the day before , '' he announced , with aggravating calmness . `` Long before you were out of short frocks and pantalettes I was a wise old gentleman . ''