a quarter to twelve
cried Valentine , still distrustful , and trembling all over with agitation -- `` If you do n't ! '' -- He stopped ; for he suddenly felt the open air blowing on his face . The clown 's wife was gone , and nothing remained for him to threaten , but the tattered horse-cloths that hung over the empty doorway . It is a quarter to twelve by the hall clock at the Rectory , and one of the finest autumn mornings of the whole season . Vance , Doctor Joyce 's middle-aged man servant , or `` Bishop '' Vance , as the small wits of Rubbleford call him , in allusion to his sleek and solemn appearance , his respectable manner , his clerical cravat , and his speckless black garments , is placing the cake and cowslip wine on the dining-table , with as much formality and precision as if his master expected an archbishop to lunch , instead of a clown 's wife and a little child of ten years old . It is quite a sight to see Vance retiring and looking at the general effect of each knife and fork as he lays it down ; or solemnly strutting about the room , with a spotless napkin waving gently in his hand ; or patronisingly confronting the pretty housemaid at the door , and taking plates and dishes from her with the air of a kitchen Sultan who can never afford to lose his dignity for a moment in the presence of the female slaves . The dining-room window opens into the Rectory garden .