five in the afternoon
Hamilton tore up the letter and threw it into the waste basket . Its perfume , delicate but imperious , intruded upon his brief . He dived into the basket as he heard Troup 's familiar whistle , and thrust the pieces into a breast pocket . In a moment he remembered that Betsey 's head would be pillowed upon that pocket at five in the afternoon , and he hastily extracted the mutilated letter , and applied a match to it , consigning women to perdition . Troup sniffed as he entered the room . `` Violets and burnt paper , '' remarked he . '' 'T is a combination I have noticed before .