two o'clock
And this was the result of my plan . There seemed a certain unreality about it all . I felt like the puppet of circumstances , or one who moved through strange mazes , half conscious that he merely dreams . By two o'clock everything was arranged for my departure on Saturday , and I was at Waterloo , taking my ticket for Haslemere , which was the station nearest to Sir Walter Tressidy 's country place . `` Not at Home '' I had a long , dreary drive after leaving the train , though in other circumstances I might have been charmed with the loveliness of one of England 's fairest counties . As it was I merely chafed at the endless hill , up which the horse slowly plodded , half inclined to think that after all I should have done better to trust to my own feet or come on a bicycle from town . The curtain of twilight was falling by the time my fly entered the long avenue that led to the house .