about nine
o'clock
Mr. Stanford lurched unsteadily across the parlour , and reconnoitred the bedroom . He nodded sagaciously , seeing his wife there asleep , and after making one or two futile efforts to remove his boots , stretched himself , boots and all , on a lounge in the sitting-room , and in two minutes was as sound as one of the Seven Sleepers . It was late next morning before either of the happy pair awoke . A vague idea that there was a noise in the air aroused the gentleman about nine o'clock . The dense fog in his brain , that a too liberal allowance of rosy wine is too apt to engender , took some time to clear away ; but when it did , he became conscious that the noise was not part of his dreams , but some one knocking loudly at the door . Mr. Stanford staggered sleepily across the apartment , unlocked the door , and admitted the brisk young woman who brought them their meals . Mr. Stanford , yawning very much , proceeded to make his toilet .