midnight
... '' While Nedda sat , long past midnight , writing her heart out in her little , white , lilac-curtained room of the old house above the Spaniard 's Road , Derek , of whom she wrote , was walking along the Malvern hills , hurrying upward in the darkness . The stars were his companions ; though he was no poet , having rather the fervid temper of the born swordsman , that expresses itself in physical ecstasies . He had come straight out from a stormy midnight talk with Sheila . What was he doing -- had been the burden of her cry -- falling in love just at this moment when they wanted all their wits and all their time and strength for this struggle with the Mallorings ? It was foolish , it was weak ; and with a sweet , soft sort of girl who could be no use . Hotly he had answered : What business was it of hers ?