the hour of seven
Flower , giving him a hearty grip , accompanied him as far as the door of the room . He looked back as he gained the pavement , and the last he saw of them they were sitting at the open window . Flower leaned out and waved his hand in farewell , but Poppy made no sign . In the rising seaport of Bittlesea Captain Fraser , walking slowly along the quay on the fateful Saturday , heard the hour of seven strike from the tower of the old church wedged in between the narrow streets at the back of the town . The little harbour with its motley collection of craft vanished ; he heard the sharp , hoarse cries of command on the Golden Cloud , and saw the bridge slowly opening to give egress to the tug which had her in tow . He saw her shapely hull and tapering spars glide slowly down the river , while Poppy Tyrell , leaning against the side , took her last look at London . He came back with a sigh to reality : the Swallow had dwindled to microscopical proportions , and looked dirty ; Bittlesea itself had the appearance of a village with foolish aspirations to be considered a port , and he noticed , with a strong sense of pity tempered with disdain , the attentions of two young townsmen to a couple of gawky girls in white frocks .