seven o'clock
` What for are they , Mrs. Marston ? ' But that question Mrs. Marston was quite unable to answer . If she had known the answer -- that the change was in herself , and that the world was not different , but still kept up its ancient war between love and respectability , beauty and mass -- she would not have liked it , and so she would not have believed it . It was seven o'clock when they were put down , tired and laden with parcels , at the quarry half-way up God 's Little Mountain . Edward had been there for more than an hour , tormented with fears for Hazel 's safety , angry with himself for letting her go . All afternoon he had fidgeted , worried Martha with suggestions about tea , finally gone to the shop several miles away for some of Hazel 's favourite cake , quite forgetting that he ought to be in the house breathing . It all resulted in a most beautiful tea , as Hazel thought when they had pushed and pulled Mrs. Marston home .