(4 of 5)
The Douglasses, F.F.V.'s at home, had not been home for a long time because Paris was the kind of town their irresponsible, penniless but aristocratic mode of life exactly suited. Mrs. Douglass was dead and not much missed. Dreamy Hugh and absent-minded but hard-hearted Catherine adored their charming failure of a father, who managed to enjoy life by running up bills, keeping a mistress, being popular with a large acquaintance. Mr. Douglass was fond of his children too, but failed to keep a weather eye on them. He never knew Catherine had become the mistress of egotistic young Gilbert Hunton. The Douglasses had no money, so when Gilbert thought of settling down he never considered Catherine as a potential spouse, instead got himself engaged to a rich little respectable hellcat. Catherine was heartbroken but hopeful, went to a fortune-teller to mend matters. Before she knew it Catherine had her faithless lover where she wanted him. Then, poor girl, she realized what it was to be loved more than enough; she more than half wished she had left spells and love-philtres alone. But she was brave, realistic; you will see how womanfully she dealt with the situation.
The Author, Anne Green, like her heroine a young expatriate in Paris, unlike her heroine has not taken a husband. She writes gaily, is photographed with a smile. A tendency to be kittenish, faintly observable in her first book, obtrudes in her second. But she writes with gusto, a rare quality, and her people are superficial enough to be amusingly lifelike.
Princesse v. Clarissa
HOUSE PARTY—E. M. Delafield— Harper ($2.50).
Of the many novelists who grapple with the amenities of everyday life, Elizabeth M. Delafield (Mrs. Paul Dashwood) is one of the most successful because most delightfully light-fingered. One of her books, attempting to describe The Way Things Are in a typical country household, had the memorable motto: "I left the room with silent dignity, but caught my foot in the mat." When you have become thoroughly acquainted with a Delafield heroine you know she is entertainingly human, can only wonder helplessly whether to praise or blame her.
Clarissa was superficially a very false person. Her accent was obviously a good imitation, her voice was usually controlled. But she had money to burn and a distinct idea of the kind of conflagration she wanted. When she decided to marry worthless Fitzmaurice he was not particularly glad, but he philosophically divorced his wife, made over his little (laughter Sophie to Clarissa. Sophie's grandmother, the Princesse, a fascinating woman with a genius for attracting calamity, trailed her poverty-stricken menage all over Europe, but Sophie never saw her again till she was grown up. By that time Clarissa's family were as well-trained as her servants. Sophie was maneuvered into an engagement to London's richest bachelor and was about to submit, although she was really in love with Clarissa's son Lucien, when the old Princesse arrived in the vicinity. Where the Princesse was, romance bloomed, common sense withered. Clarissa surprised herself by giving in, gave the children her munificent blessing.