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Updated: June 21, 2025
In the spring of the year 1881 he was visiting his old school-fellow and client, George Liversedge, of Branksome, who, with the view of developing his pine-woods in the neighbourhood of Bournemouth, had placed the formation of the company necessary to the scheme in Soames's hands. Mrs. Liversedge, with a sense of the fitness of things, had given a musical tea in his honour.
Allen was asked to propose a name, and he suggested that the P.O. should be called "Winton." This is the name of a suburb of Bournemouth, Hampshire, England, and Allen's native place. We had kept one of Fitzmaurice's teams to haul in firewood, and posts to fence a paddock on Vindex run, the lessees, Messrs. Scott and Gordon, having given us permission to do so.
There was another click, and then "Hello" in unmistakable accents came over the wire. "That you, Hersheimmer? Beresford speaking. I'm at Waterloo. I've followed Whittington and another man here. No time to explain. Whittington's off to Bournemouth by the 3.30. Can you get there by then?" The reply was reassuring. "Sure. I'll hustle." The telephone rang off.
Now, if the mouth of that Chine at Bournemouth was lifted twenty feet out of the sea, one thing would happen, that the high tide would not come up any longer, and wash away the cake of dirt at the entrance, as we saw it do so often.
There was delightful riot in the house of the Wendovers on the night before the picnic. The Colonel had developed a cold and cough within the last week, so he and his wife had jogged off to Bournemouth, in the T-cart, with one portmanteau and one servant, leaving Bessie mistress of all things. It was a grief to Mrs.
The Bournemouth Meeting will always be remembered with regret for the tragedy of C. S. Rolls's death, which took place on the Tuesday, the second day of the meeting.
We should have seen the sea in front of us; or rather, an arm of the sea; for Finchampstead ridges opposite, instead of being covered with farms, and woodlands, and purple heath above, would have been steep cliffs of sand and clay, just like those you see at Bournemouth now; and what would have spoilt somewhat the beauty of the sight along the shores there would have floated, at least in winter, great blocks and floes of ice, such as you might have seen in the tideway at King's Lynn the winter before last, growling and crashing, grubbing and ploughing the sand, and the gravel, and the mud, and sweeping them away into seas towards the North, which are now all fruitful land.
He turned to Olga and continued vehemently, "Do you think that I would have told you what I did, Princess, had I not hated the man? No. Not even for the love I bear you would I have done that. You sent me to Mr. Steel at Bournemouth. I knew that he was a detective, and went prepared to tell all about Denham's wickedness, even although I incriminated myself."
"She can't live forever," Reginald broke out at last with apparent irrelevance. But there was no irrelevance his remark was perfectly in order. He was referring to a dear aunt in Bournemouth. This lady, who was possessed of "funds," had once told her loving nephews the twins that if they would go away and stay away she might do something for them by and by.
"Mirko, when I saw him last at Bournemouth, played to me a wonderful air; he said Maman always came back to him in his dreams when he was ill feverish, you know and that she had taught it to him. It talks of the woods where she is, and beautiful butterflies; there is a blue one for her, and a little white one for him. He wrote out the score it is so joyous and I have it.
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