YEVGRAF IVANOVITCH SHIRYAEV, a small farmer, whose father, a parish priest, now deceased, had received a gift of three hundred acres of land from Madame Kuvshinikov, a general’s window, was standing in a corner before a copper washing-stand, washing his hands. As usual, his looked anxious and ill-humoured, and his beard was uncombed. 

“What weather!” he said. “It is not laid upon us. It’s raining again!” 

He grumbled on, while his family sat waiting at table for him to have finished washing his hands before beginning dinner. Fedosya Semyonova, his wife, his son Pyotr, a student, his eldest daughter Varvaram and three small boys, has been sitting waiting a long time. The boys – Kolka, Vanka and Arhipka – grubby, snub-nosed little fellows with chubby faces and tousled hair that wanted cutting, moved their chairs impatiently, while their elders sat without stirring and apparently did not care whether they ate their dinner or waited…

From the passage, it may be assumed that the time of the day when the incident is described is:

The Sun had set and it was late evening 

He grumbled on, while his family sat waiting at table for him to have finished washing his hands before beginning dinner.