mese colony to an extent that is not justified either by
their connection with the plot or the necessity of mystifying the
reader we must forgive her because she does it very well--so well
indeed that we may hope to see _The Pointing Man_, excellent as it is
in its way, succeeded by a contribution to Anglo-Oriental literature
that will do ampler justice to Miss DOUIE'S unquestionable gifts.

* * * * *

Our writers appear willing converts to my own favourite theory that
the public is, like a child, best pleased to hear the tales that it
already knows by heart. The latest exponent of this is the lady who
prefers to be called only "The Author of _An Odd Farmhouse_." Her new
little book, _Your Unprofitable Servant_ (WESTALL), is a record of
domestic happenings and impressions during the early phases of the
War. The thing is skilfully done, and in the result carries you with
interest from page to page; though (as I hint) the history of those
August days, when Barbarism came forth to battle and Civilisation
regretfully unpacked its holiday suit-cases, can hardly appeal now
with the freshness of revelation. Still, the writer brings undeniable
gifts to her more than twice-told tale. She has, for example,
perception and a turn of phrase very pleasant, as when she speaks
of the shops in darkened London conducting the last hour of business
under lowered awnings, "as if it were a liaison." There are many such
rewarding passages, some perhaps a little facile, but, taken together,
quite enough to make this unpretentious little volume a very agreeable
companion for the few moments of leisure which are all that most of us
can get in these strenuous days.

* * * * *

I enjoyed at a pleasant sitting the whole of Mr. FRANK SWINNERTON'S
_Nocturne_ (SECKER). I don't quite know (and I don't see how
the author can quite know) whether his portraits of pretty
self-willed _Jenny_ and plain love-hungry _Emmy_, the daughters
of the superannuated iron-moulder, are true to life, but they are
extraordinarily plausible. Not a word or a mood or a move in the
inter-play of five characters in four hours of a single night, the
two girls and "_Pa_," and _Alf_ and _Keith_, the sailor and almost
gentleman who was _Jenny's_ lover, seemed to me out of place. The
little scene in the cabin of the yacht between _Jenny_ and _Keith_
is a quite brilliant study in selective realism. Take the trouble to