eight o'clock
At dinner we met Mr. Van Dam -- a small man who does n't talk much ; and it seemed so exciting to have wine at table , though of course I did not taste it , or coffee . And it was delightful to lean back in the carriage , as we drove to the Opera House , and remember how Kitty and I used to pin up our skirts under our ulsters and jog about in street cars . Mrs. Van Dam wore a wonderful hooded cloak of lace and fur , and her gloves fastened all the way to her elbows with silk loops that passed over silver balls . I had been so impatient during dinner , because they did n't sit down until eight o'clock , and then dawdled as if there were no Opera to follow ; but I need n't have worried , for although the performance had begun when we arrived , there were still many vacant places in the great house . I drew closer about my face the scarf that Ethel had lent me until we had passed through the dazzling lobby , up the stairway and through the corridors , and until the red curtains of the box had parted , and I had slipped into the least conspicuous chair . Muffled as I was , I trembled at the first glance at the great , brilliantly lighted house , from which rose the stir of a gathering audience and a rustle of low voices . `` Why , you 're not nervous , are you ? ''