life is thus and thus, well, I have to
believe him. As a fact I seldom read so convincing a word-picture of that
removed and esoteric existence. The title (not too happy) means the world
beyond the theatre, that which so many players count well lost for the
compensations of applause and fame; and the story is of a young and
phenomenally successful actress, _Jess Yeo_, in whom the claims of
domesticity and the love of her dramatist husband are shown in conflict
with the attractions of West-End stardom and photographs in the illustrated
papers. Eventually--but I suppose I can hardly tell that without spoiling
for you what goes before the event. Anyhow, if I admit that the ending did
not inspire me with any sanguine hope of happiness ever after, it at least
put a pleasant finish on an attractive and successful tale.

* * * * *

_In the Mountains_ (MACMILLAN) is one of those pleasant books of which the
best review would be a long string of quotations, and that is a very
complimentary thing to say about any novel. Written in diary form, on the
whole successfully, it tells little of doing and much of being, and a great
deal more of feeling than of either. It is scarcely necessary after that to
add that it is discursive. As a matter of fact I found that for me that
half of its charm which did not lie in being whisked off, as it were by
magic, to sit in the sunshine of Switzerland lay in its author's
reflections upon subjects quite unconnected with her story, and as far
apart from each other as LAW'S _Serious Call_ and the effect of different
kinds of underclothing on the outward demeanour of the wearer. From the
human document point of view it is as a picture of the convalescence of a
soul sick with grief that _In the Mountains_ deserves attention. I cannot
imagine that anyone who has ever got well again after sorrow will fail to
recognise its truth. The little mystery and the slender love-story which
hold the discursiveness together are just sufficient but so slight that
they shall not even be hinted at here. For the rest the book is whimsical,
thoughtful, sentimental by turns and, in spite of its tolerance, a shade
superior; with now and then a phrase which left me wondering whether a
blushing cheek would deserve the Garter motto's rebuke; in fact it
resembles more than anything else on earth what the "German garden" of a
certain "Elizabeth" might grow into if she transplanted it to a Swiss
mou