eleven o'clock
Comyn and I were in Mr. Manners 's coach . The evening was fine and warm , and my lady in very lively spirits . As we rattled over Westminster Bridge , the music of the Vauxhall band came `` throbbing through the still night , '' and the sky was bright with the reflection of the lights . It was the fashion with the quality to go late ; and so eleven o'clock had struck before we had pulled up between Vauxhall stairs , crowded with watermen and rough mudlarks , and the very ordinary-looking house which forms the entrance of the great garden . Leaving the servants outside , single-file we trailed through the dark passage guarded by the wicketgate . `` Prepare to be ravished , Richard , '' said my lady , with fine sarcasm . `` You were yourself born in the colonies , miss , '' I retorted .