Five o'clock
Clement Austin had promised Margaret to wait for her , and to wait patiently ; and he meant to keep his promise . But there are some limits even to the patience of a lover , though he were the veriest knight-errant who was ever eager to shiver a lance or hack the edge of a battle-axe for love of his liege lady . When you have nothing to do but to walk up and down a few yards of hard dusty high-road , upon a bleak evening in January , an hour more or less is of considerable importance . Five o'clock struck about ten minutes after Margaret Wilmot had entered the park , and Clement thought to himself that even if Margaret were successful in obtaining an interview with the banker , that interview would be over before six . But the faint strokes of Lisford-church clock died away upon the cold evening wind , and Clement was still pacing up and down , and the fly was still waiting ; the horse comfortable enough , with a rug upon his back and his nose in a bag of oats ; the man walking up and down by the side of the vehicle , slapping his gloved hands across his shoulders every now and then to keep himself warm . In that long hour between six and seven , Clement Austin 's patience wore itself almost threadbare . It is one thing to ride into the lists on a prancing steed , caparisoned with embroidered trappings , worked by the fair hands of your lady-love , and with the trumpets braying , and the populace shouting , and the Queen of beauty smiling sweet approval of your prowess : but it is quite another thing to walk up and down a dusty country road , with the wind biting like some ravenous animal at the tip of your nose , and no more consciousness of your legs and arms than if you were a Miss Biffin .