twelve o'clock
Conroy was a free bird of the wild . He snatched golden grain for nutriment from the hand of a goddess . These were not his words or his metaphors , but they represented the impression which his talk and his stories left on my mind . At twelve o'clock I rose to say good night . As I did so a servant entered the room and told Conroy that his motor was ready for him at the door . Conroy left the room at once , and left the house a few minutes later . I suppose we ought , all of us , to have been surprised .