seven o'clock
The small head , with its gleaming crown of chestnut hair , was elevated with a proud little movement , palpable enough to my jealous and troubled eyes . I could not see her face , but I knew well that her eyes flashed stormy lightnings at that moment . Wonderful hazel eyes they were , changing with every mood , now dark and sombre as a starless night , now light and limpid as a Highland burn , laughing in the sunshine . She imagined that the excuse I had made was invalid ; for if , as Cassavetti inferred , his -- and my -- mysterious visitor had been off the premises before seven o'clock , I ought still to have been able to keep my appointment with her . Well , I would have to undeceive her later ! `` Do n't look so solemn , Maurice , '' Mary said , as I seated myself beside her . `` Tell me all about everything , right now . ''