I remember seeing some years ago a somewhat similar craft cruising in the Solent.
Unless we can intercept the vessel that bears him across the Solent.
She went away to Hampshire, to the house of an old friend—a lovely place on the shore of the Solent.
All the ships on this side of it will have time to work up the Solent.
The ladies, who had never sailed down the Solent before, were delighted with the scenery.
In front sparkled the waters of the Solent, the Bond Street of ocean highways.
The Waif was no poppycock yacht, built to dodge about the Solent and run for Cowes if the wind blew a capful.
A slight knock on the head while swimming in the Solent—that is all.
To right and left the long blue curve of the Solent lapped in a fringe of foam upon the yellow beach.
It lies on the estuary of the Lymington, which opens into the Solent.