is eyes. Then she lays it on the table, says: "I leave you to
draw your own conclusions" and departs. A better opening for a light
social comedy could scarcely be devised. We have no difficulty in
guessing that the lady, who is not quite young, and has clearly a strong
sense of humour, is freakishly turning appearances against herself, by
way of throwing a dash of cold water on Lord Eric's sudden flame of
devotion. But we long for a clear explanation of the whole quaint little
episode; and here, again, no reasonable offer would tempt us to leave
the theatre before our curiosity is satisfied. The remainder of the
play, though amusing, is unfortunately not up to the level of the first
act; else _Wheels within Wheels_ would be a little classic of
light comedy.

For a third example of interest carefully carried forward, I turn to a
recent Norwegian play, _The Idyll_, by Peter Egge. At the very rise of
the curtain, we find Inga Gar, wife of an author and journalist, Dr.
Gar, reading, with evident tokens of annoyance and distaste, a new book
of poems by one Rolfe Ringve. Before her marriage, Inga was an actress
of no great talent; Ringve made himself conspicuous by praising her far
beyond her merits; and when, at last, an engagement between them was
announced, people shrugged their shoulders and said: "They are going to
regularize the situation." As a matter of fact (of this we have early
assurance), though Ringve has been her ardent lover, Inga has neither
loved him nor been his mistress. Ringve being called abroad, she has,
during his absence, broken off her engagement to him, and has then,
about a year before the play opens, married Dr. Gar, to whom she is
devoted. While Gar is away on a short lecture tour, Ringve has published
the book of love-poems which we find her reading. They are very
remarkable poems; they have already made a great stir in the literary
world; and interest is all the keener for the fact that they are
evidently inspired by his passion for Inga, and are couched in such a
tone of intimacy as to create a highly injurious impression of the
relations between them. Gar, having just come home, has no suspicion of
the nature of the book; and when an editor, who cherishes a grudge
against him, conceives the malicious idea of asking him to review
Ringve's masterpiece, he consents with alacrity. One or two small
incidents have in the meantime shown us that there is a little rift in
the idyllic happiness of Inga