Edith Ottley cherished a passion for Aylmer Ross; to such an extent indeed that she came within an ace of eloping with him. However, the ace wasn't played; and in due course Aylmer went to the War and became a captain. Unfortunately he also became much more interesting by reason of a wound; and, when this brought him back to England, the passion also returned, stronger than ever. This, of course, is why their story is called Love at Second Sight (Grant Richards). I have now a small surprise for you, namely that Edith was already married, and owned a charming house, a valetudinarian husband and two pleasant children. So I quite expected that Aylmer, in the fulness of time, would either (1) be removed by the enemy, or (2) marry a delightful little Red-Cross nurse who adored him. But the author, Mrs. Leverson, had other views. Instead therefore of ending her heroine in the expected mood of conventional reconciliation she sends the objectionable husband off with somebody else, and leaves us to a prospect of wedding-bells with the divorce court as a preliminary. Which is at least original. But throughout I had the feeling that a great deal of bright and clever writing was being wasted on a poor theme. The characters are brilliantly suggested, but—with perhaps one exception, forgetful Lady Conroy, who is an entire delight—they seem altogether unworthy of it. In fact I came away from the book with the impression of having attended a gathering of somewhat shoddily smart people, and sat next to a clever woman who had been witty about them. The worst of the matter is that they are all so real. This is a tribute to the author, but a most unpleasant reflection for everyone else.
The Rector. "Well, William, you ought to be proud and happy to know you have four sons serving their country with His Majesty's Forces."
William. "I am proud and happy, Sir, but the old woman she do fret somethin' terrible because none of 'em ain't got no Victoria Cross yet."
My attention was first attracted to The New Dawn (Long) by the fact that the plot starts at Euston Station. That interesting, not to say romantic, line, the L. & N. W. R., is usually shunned by our novelists. But although "George Wovil" takes his characters to the furthest North, even beyond Glasgow, their sympathies, like, I think, those of their creator, remain behind in fair and false and fickle Wimbledon. This at least was where Halvey Brown wished himself as the train glided over the best laid track in Europe towards dour Bartocher. And Brown, though he knew the natural drabness of his destination already, had at that time no information as to all the unpleasing events that were to happen there; that, for example, the minister's new wife would turn out to be a lady with a past that he himself had shared, or that the fair-haired young man in the same compartment was the assistant minister, who would fall in love with the said wife and eventually slay her, the minister, and himself. I find I have been led into betraying for you the outline of the story. Perhaps, however, this does not greatly matter. The value of the book lies in its very natural and human characters. All four of them—there are only four who really matter—are admirably drawn, so that the tragedy of their lives holds and convinces you. My complaints against the author are, first, the excess of emphasis that he gives to the physical unpleasantness of his background; secondly, the loose construction that allows the tale to be continually turning back to look behind it. He would keep a lover in the act of embracing the lady of his heart while he explains what the parents of each died of, and all that has happened since. Still, The New Dawn remains an unconventional and strongly written story, which will certainly interest though perhaps hardly enliven you.