Five o'clock
She says her mother was very beautiful . '' `` I never knew a woman whose mother was n't beautiful , once the mother was dead , '' says Roger . `` Sort of thing they tell you the moment they get the chance . '' Five o'clock has struck some time ago . Evening is coming on apace . On the dry , smooth-shaven lawn , outside , the shadows are lengthening , stretching themselves indolently as though weary from all the hide-and-seek they have been playing , since early dawn , in the nooks and corners of the quaint old garden . June has not yet quite departed ; its soft , fresh glory still gilds the edge of the lake , and lends a deeper splendor to the golden firs that down below are nodding to the evening breeze ; it is the happiest time of all the year , for `` What is so rare as a day in June ?