nine o'clock
Something from it penetrated her for which she had no definition . It was perhaps the dignity of humanity confronting her in that strong and simple face framed by the kerchief , like a woman of the people 's , -- her own face , but not certainly as she saw it in the mirror ; a humanity that out of the common materials offered to it day by day had rejected all that was mean and contrived to build up nobleness . Half perceiving that this portrait in its different way flattered her as much if not more than the portrait down-stairs , she , while modestly refusing to be fooled by the compliment , yet felt a motion of affectionate gratitude toward Gerald for the sympathy which had enabled him to pierce beneath the surface and see that Bouncing Betsy had her feelings , too , her history ; yes , her bitter tragedy . While continuing with her eyes on the picture , she from time to time wiped them , and when the door-bell rang again , aware of being `` a sight , '' took the precaution of retiring to her bedroom , so that if Vitale should come to announce a visit , -- it was not yet nine o'clock , -- she could the better make him understand that he must excuse her to the visitor ; she was going to bed . But learning from the servant that Signor Fane was below , she changed her mind , and chose unhesitatingly from her stock of useful infinitives the appropriate two : '' _ Dire venire _ . '' Gerald found her by the fire , her fur-cloak over her shoulders , her woolly afghan in her hands , and the picture on the chair before her . `` Well ? ''