seven minutes past three
The davit swung inboard as she arrived at the level of the rail and deposited her , a limp bundle of damp rags -- in fact what Mr. Mantalini would have described as `` a demmed moist unpleasant body '' -- on the upper deck of the Armed Merchant Cruiser . With the assistance of two attentive sailors Cecily rose giddily to her feet ; most of her hair-pins had come out , and her hair streamed in wet ringlets over her shoulders . She raised her eyes to take in her new surroundings , and there , standing before her with his eyes and mouth three round O 's , was Armitage . Now Cecily had gone through a good deal since seven minutes past three that afternoon . But to be confronted , as she swayed , with her wet clothes clinging to her body like a sculptor 's model , deathly sea-sick , red-nosed for aught she knew or cared , with the man who but for her firmness and mental agility would have kept on proposing to her at intervals during the past eighteen months , was a climax that overwhelmed even Cecily 's self-possession . She chose the only course left open to her , and fainted promptly . Armitage caught her in his arms , and as he did so was probably the first and last Englishman who has ever blessed a German Submarine .