midnight
Aware of poor , pretty , coughing little Mrs. Titherage 's raised eyebrows and enquiring stare , as they passed her with her coffee , cigarette , and fat , florid stock-broker husband -- who , by the way , had the grace to keep his eyes glued to the patience cards , ranged upon the small table before him , until father and daughter were a good half-way up the flight of stairs . Later , when outwardly mistress of herself , the inclination to tears successfully conquered and her normal half-playful gravity regained , she went to her bedroom , Hordle had brought her this beguiling packet . Inside the silver paper wrappings she found a red leather jewel case , and a note in Carteret 's singularly definite hand , character rather than script , the severe yet decorative quality of Arabic about it . `` To the dear witch , '' it read , `` in memory of our incomparable Henrietta 's dance , and of the midnight walk which followed it , and of our hours of pleasant sightseeing at Marseilles . '' No signature followed , only the date . Now , sitting up in bed , while the day came into full and joyous being , Nature 's face duly decked and painted by the greatly reconciling sun , Damaris read the exquisitely written note again . The writing in itself moved her with a certain home-sickness for the East , which it seemed in some sort to embody and from which to hail .