r the name of one of Ibsen's most formidable heroines; but
unfortunately Miss West wrote a letter in disclaimer. She cannot help Mr.
Ibsen. It may be a collision in names, but it is not a collusion. The
truth about Rebecca West, who has written _The Judge_, seems to be
dependably derivable from the English _Who's Who_, a standard work always
worth consulting. This estimable authority says that Rebecca West was born
on Christmas in 1892, and is the youngest daughter of the late Charles
Fairfield of County Kerry. It further says that she was educated at George
Watson's Ladies' College, Edinburgh. It states that she joined the staff
of The Freewoman as a reviewer in 1911. Her club is the International
Women's Franchise. Her residence is 36 Queen's Gate Terrace, London S. W.
7. Her telephone is Kensington 7285.

Now is there anything mythical left? What excuse, O everybody, is there
any longer for the legend of Regina Miriam Bloch?

But I do not believe Miss West objects to legends. I imagine she loves
them. The legend of a name is perhaps unimportant; the legend of a
personality is of the highest importance. That Miss West has a personality
is evident to anyone familiar with her work. A personality, however, is
not three-dimensionally revealed except in that form of work which comes
closest to the heart and life of the worker. To write pungent and
terrifyingly sane criticisms is a notable thing; but to write novels of
tender insight and intimate revelation is a far more convincing thing.
_The Judge_ is such a novel.

=iii=

There is a prefatory sentence, as follows:

"Every mother is a Judge who sentences the children for the sins of the
father."

There is a dedication. It is:

TO THE MEMORY OF MY MOTHER

_The Judge_ is a study of the claim of a mother upon her son. The
circumstances of Mrs. Yaverland's life were such as peculiarly to
strengthen the tie between her and Richard. On the other hand, she had
always disliked and even hated her son Roger.

The first part of the book, however, does not bring in Richard Yaverland's
mother. It is a picture of Ellen Melville, the girl in Edinburgh, the girl
whose craving for the colour of existence has gone unsatisfied until
Richard Yaverland enters her life. Yaverland, with his stories of Spain,
and his imaginative appeal for that young girl, is the fulcrum of Ellen
Melville's destiny.

That destiny, carried by the forces of human character to its strange
termination,