Do you know Mrs. Shovell? Violet Ashwin she was, and married young Charlie Shovell, some sort of a publisher and really rather a nice fool. She is an absolute dear. Gay and loyal and adorably kind. No, not a bit sentimental. Shy and yet has a way with her, and, thank Heaven, not the least bit of a scalp-hunter. We did think that Master Charles, who was distinctly by way of being a philanderer, mightn't perhaps run quite straight. But she's done wonders with him. Might I introduce you? Certainly? Then get Duke Jones (Sidgwick and Jackson), by Ethel Sidgwick. She's entirely responsible for these nice people, and for Lady Ashwin, Violet's utter beast of a mother, and Sir Claude, that brick of a man and doctor, and insufferable Honoria and naughty bewitching Lisette, who came badly to grief and was pulled out of a really rotten hole by Jones. E. M. Jones (M for Marmaduke) was the fellow who worshipped Violet at sight and was ever after her faithful dog.... I've put down this book with real regret. I can't help worrying as to whether there really is such a person as Violet because I might have the fortune to meet her. Really, Miss Sidgwick has an extraordinary power of making you feel friends (or bitter enemies) with her puppets, who aren't puppets at all. I've had the bad luck to miss A Lady of Leisure, to which Duke Jones is a sequel, but I'll readily take the responsibility of advising you to get it first.
Those who do not accept Archbishop Lang's view that the Kaiser is too sacred a subject for mirth should spend sixpence and a quarter of an hour on Keep Smiling (Nash). In dealing with the inexhaustible theme of William's Lie Factory, Messrs. Walter Emanuel and John Hassall are at their best.
Sergeant Instructor. "What's yer name?"
Sir Angelo Frampington, R.A. "Frampington."
Sergeant. "Well, 'old yer 'ead up, Frampington."