rge class of women, with a limited capacity for
affection, whose natures expand only in an atmosphere of luxury. 'Don't
be shocked,' she says to her sister in reference to the unsuccessful
suit of her clerical lover; 'I never intended to be a poor man's wife.'
As a contrast to the cold personality of the beautiful Sara, the author
gives a charming picture of the elder sister's affection and
thoughtfulness for others.

Margaret Cavendish and Eila Frost, in _Not Counting the Cost_, are good
women of a perfectly possible and natural kind, and it is surprising to
think that the same hand which drew them also found patience to draw the
unhappy, metaphysical heroines of _In Her Earliest Youth_ and _The
Knight of the White Feather_. Tasma is seldom so pleasing as when
describing the characters of children, of whom several figure
prominently in her novels. There is a delightful picture of romping
childhood at the opening of _Not Counting the Cost_. The scene is a farm
in the shadow of Mount Wellington, near Hobart, the city where the
author spent many of her own early years. 'Chubby,' the eight-year-old
uncle of the heroine of _In Her Earliest Youth_, and Louey Piper are
lovable creations, though, it must be said, more quaint than natural.
One remembers the expansive dignity of the former on his first meeting
with Pauline's lover, George Drafton. 'How do you do, little man?' says
the latter condescendingly. 'How do you do, sir?' replies the little man
stiffly, raising his garden hat. 'You are an acquaintance of Paul--of
Miss Vyner's, I believe. I have the honour to be her maternal uncle.' No
wonder George bursts into a loud guffaw, notwithstanding the tragic
intensity of his love protestations of five minutes before!

Louey Piper's relations with her father are idyllic. She is more
necessary to him than Eppie to Silas Marner; she is a continual
negotiator of peace in his divided house, and 'in this she could not
have displayed more courtier-like sagacity had she been an old-world
changeling with centuries of experience respecting rich fathers of
uncertain testamentary inclinations.' In her limited knowledge of things
outside Piper's Hill, 'street-crossings and railway-platforms presented
themselves to her in the light of shocking and mysterious man-traps....
The wistful, yearning look that gave her eyes so touching an expression
in the setting of her small freckled face never gave place to such a
fulness of satisfaction as whe