ten in the
morning
It was at that hour between afternoon and night when , for the idle , the wanderer , things are apt to take on a wistful aspect . The mind wanders forth on far journeys and returns with sheaves of withered and departed joys . Carrie sat at her window looking out . Drouet had been away since ten in the morning . She had amused herself with a walk , a book by Bertha M. Clay which Drouet had left there , though she did not wholly enjoy the latter , and by changing her dress for the evening . Now she sat looking out across the park as wistful and depressed as the nature which craves variety and life can be under such circumstances . As she contemplated her new state , the strain from the parlour below stole upward .