vious retort. Besides, with all its faults, the
story exhibits an almost flaunting disregard of those qualities that
make the best seller. About the author I am prepared to wager, first,
that "STORM JAMESON" is a disguise; secondly, that the personality
behind it is feminine. I have hinted that the tale is hardly likely
to gain universal popularity; let me add that certain persons, notably
very young Socialists and experts in Labour journalism, may find it of
absorbing interest. It is a young book, almost exclusively about young
people, written (or I mistake) by a youthful hand. These striplings
and maidens are all poor, mostly vain, and without exception fulfilled
of a devastating verbosity. We meet them first at a "Northern
University," talking, reforming the earth, kissing, and again
talking--about the kisses. Thence they and the tale move to London,
and the same process is repeated. It is all rather depressingly narrow
in outlook; though within these limits there are interesting and
even amusing scenes. Also the author displays now and again a happy
dexterity of phrase (I remember one instance--about "web-footed
Socialists ... dividing and sub-dividing into committees, like worms
cut by a spade"), which encourages me to hope that she will do better
things with a scheme of wider appeal. But to the general, especially
the middle-aged general, the contents of her present _Pot_ will, I
fear, be only caviare.

* * * * *

Little _Sara Lee Kennedy_, betrothed to one of those alert grim-jawed
young Americans one sees in the advertising pages of _The Ladies' Home
Journal_, learns of the suffering in Belgium at the beginning of the
great War and finds she must do something about it. She can cook, so
she will go and make soup for KING ALBERT's men. She takes her young
man's photograph and his surly disapproval; also a few dollars hastily
collected from her obscure township in Pa.; and becomes the good
angel of a shattered sector of the Belgian line. And she finds in _The
Amazing Interlude_ (MURRAY) her prince--a real prince--in the Secret
Service, and, after the usual reluctances and brave play (made for the
sake of deferring the inevitable) with the photograph of the old
love, is at last gloriously on with the new. It is a very charming
love-story, and MARY ROBERTS RINEHART makes a much better thing of the
alarms and excursions of war than you would think. It was no good, I
found, being superi