three
o'clock
`` The eternal hills '' was a phrase that never occurred to him when he watched these mountains , always veiled under a colored and moving haze . They looked far more likely to pull up their feet and walk off . But Gwynne , although the border beneath his veranda was full of sweet scents , and the roses on the pillars hung about him , and the air was a soft caressing tide , was no longer concerned with nature . He was nervous and full of doubt , of uneasy anticipation that he would not appear to advantage at three o'clock that afternoon . He knew that if he were really panic-stricken and attempted to carry it off in the masterful manner , she would laugh in his face . If he could work himself up to the attitude , well and good . At the same time he was vaguely conscious that this period of alternate hope and fear , of cold fits and hot , would one day be sweet in the retrospect , and regretted with some sadness ; an episode in the lover 's progress gone beyond recall .