speech we should be glad to see that meaning restored.
In a tale the interest lies in the bare drama,—the actions or acci- dents of the figures as determined by external events. The same is true of romance, with the proviso that such events should be removed a step or two from everyday happenings. Mut in a novel a more or less complex web of life is taken, and the characters are developed from within. Slowly and painstakingly the conditions under which they move are elabo- rated, their impact upon each other revealed, and any external events are only subsidiary to the spiritual comedy or tragedy. In such a book the story need never move from the most placid surroundings, there may be no incident more striking than the collapse of a village pump, but there may, neverthe- less, be the truest and most poignant drama in the lives of the characters. In this old sense of the term, Mrs. Belloc- Lowndes's new book is a novel, and in its way a fine novel. She works upon a large canvas, many figures are drawn in detail, and there is a wealth of that minute explanatory description which is " padding " when bungled, but when done with art and understanding provides the necessary background to psychology. Her theme is a situation which presents itself to two generations of the same family. Richard Rebell, a Mid-Victorian man of fashion, is accused of cheating at cards, and, though acquitted, finds his reputa- tion gone, and goes to live with his wife and his daughter Barbara in France. His kinswoman, Barbara Sampiero, separated from her husband, a Corsican adventurer, is living with Lord Bosworth, a middle-aged English statesman, and the respectability of the exiles prevents them from accepting her eagerly offered friendship. Time passes, and Barbara Rebell grows up, and marries a rascally West Indian planter; her parents die; and Madame Sampiero, stricken by paralysis, lies alone in her great house of Chancton Priory. The story opens with Barbara's return from the West Indies to Chancton, at her kinswoman's request, after a short married life, made wretched by the brutality of her husband. , At Chancton she meets the new land-agent, Oliver Boringdon, a poor and ambitious young man ; and near by lives his friend and Lord Berwick's nephew, James Berwick, immensely rich, a widower, and a rising statesman. Both men fall in love with her, and Berwick's love is returned. For a little it seems as if the relations between Madame Sampiero and Bosworth were to be repeated in the next generation; but Berwick's conscience triumphs, and soon the fortunate death of the West Indian husband enables the lovers to marry. This study in temptation is the main theme of the book, but since in all novels in the proper sense there are subordinate themes, we are given also careful studies of the love affairs of Berwick's sister, and of Boringdon. In spite of the mass of detail, the book has the unity which is given by the concentration of interest on one figure, and from first to last Barbara never loses her predominant place on the stage.
As a study in character we have little but praise for Mrs. Belloc-Lowndes's work. Here we have no trait-portraiture, no insistence upon a mannerism or an accent as a substitute for serious analysis. Now and then a descriptive phrase is repeated too often—for example, we get a little tired of Daniel O'Flaherty's "plain, strong face "—but in general every figure is carefully studied in relation to ancestry, upbringing, and environment, and stands out as a fully realised and con- vincing portrait. This is true equally of the minor and of the principal actors. Mrs. Turke, the shrewd, vulgar house- keeper at Chancton, and McKirdy, the old watchdog of a Scotch doctor, are as real as the more elaborate figures of Barbara and Berwick. The book is a gallery of many types of women, among which it is hard to choose. Barbara is an exquisite picture, drawn with tenderness and understanding, and so also is Lucy Kemp, who in her commonplace goodness might easily have been made con- ventional. As a study in sound and capable spinsterhood Arabella Berwick is an excellent piece of work. But perhaps the most remarkable achievement is Mrs. Boringdon, the slightly underbred, cross-grained woman of the world. If Barbara is drawn with the accuracy which comes from sympathy, Mrs. Boringdon is sketched with the bard fidelity of an unhesitating dislike. The faint likeness to Mistress Quickly is cunningly suggested. In such a novel the men are usually inferior to the women, but it is difficult to find this inferiority in Berwick and Boringdon. Both are recognisable types, but both are also real beings, drawn
with that intimate detail which transforms -the type into the individuaL The one is the half-hearted man, with one eye on the lady and another on his own career, honest but arid, eternally an official rather than a leader. Berwick, on the other hand, is the man of action, with fire and force and originality in him, a philanderer by virtue of his Stuart descent till he meets with his grand passion, and then swiftly transformed from the cynic into the reckless lover.
The faults we have to find with the book are concerned with one episode and with the diaoilment. We find it difficult to understand why the episode of Lord Bosworth's wraith appearing to Madame Sampiero at the time of his death was introduced in a book of this sort. The incident is well enough done, but it has no artistic relevance, and after the quiet elaboration of character this sudden plunge into psychical marvels startles and perplexes the reader. It is a change of atmosphere for which he is not ready. Nor is the culminating episode quite satisfactory. Dramatically it was necessary that the lovers should not follow the example of their elders. But when Berwick makes the gran nfiuto we are not convinced, for there is nothing in his previous history which has prepared us for it; moreover, the renunciation was after all a mere prudent postponement, for he knew that Barbara's husband was dying. Such a climax is not adequate to the motive of the work, for it is not the conflict of character with itself and the world, but an accident, a coincidence, imported from without to solve the problem. This blemish detracts considerably from the impression left by the book, but enough remains of careful workmanship and psychological insight to put it on a high plane of merit.
The Cap of Fortune. By Mary E. Mann. (Hurst and Blackett. 6s.)—Mrs. Mann's latest novel has all her charm of manner and freshness of portraiture. Yet one may not unjustly insist that while the plot is unlikely, its working out borders on the incredible. Briefly put, the story is concerned with the sudden conversion of the overworked and underpaid " tweeny- maid '.' of a seaside boarding-house into an heiress by the will of an eccentric widow, to the discomfiture of the widow's nephew, a charming but idle young man who has subsisted chiefly on his expectations. Cinderella adores Prince Charming from afar, and carries her unselfish devotion to such lengths as to place his legal representatives in possession of facts which enable them to upset the will. Meantime the young man has broken off his engage- ment with a well-born damsel, and returns from the Boer War to find himself reinstated as sole heir of his aunt's estate. Adepts in the art of divination may easily forecast the sequel. The story is told with a simplicity and geniality which disarm all criticism of its inherent improbabilities. Tilly's education is conducted with the rapidity of a fairy-tale, and while the characterisation at each stage is natural enough, the progress from one to another is effected per saitum, and with a sovereign disregard for chronological verisimilitude.
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