four
o'clock
It was the fifteenth of March and the Merivales ' `` Musical '' was to commence at eight o'clock . The wind blew fiercely through the stiff , naked boughs of the giant maples , and drifted the light powdery snow madly on before it . I had been in-doors all day listening to the weird wailing of the ceaseless wind as it whistled down the chimneys and swept past the house corners . I had written and read and stitched until my eyes were wearied and my fingers numb , and it was only four o'clock , that turning-point on a March day from the sunshine to the gloaming when we women know not what to do with ourselves ; when it is too cold to go out or expect visitors , too late in the day to begin any occupation , too dark to read with any comfort , and too early to light the lamps . I went to the window and looked impatiently into the street but there was no comfort to be had there ; a milkman 's wagon stood over the way , his horse pawing the frozen ground while he filled his measure with the cold white liquid . A band of little children ran screaming by with a large dog drawing a sleigh ; a beggar woman clad in flimsy rags was mounting the steps of a neighboring house , and that was all . I shrugged my shoulders and turned away with a smothered yawn .