The New York herald., 1922-02-26

upholstered in sage green and null
berry colored fabrics, chimney pieces
Of mellow marble, and family por-
traits in frames that it would have
been Sacrilege to furbish up,
French and English gentlemen in
antique uniforms" and so on-the
transplanted child became a juve-
nile epicurean, precocious in aesthetic
Judgment, intolerant of everything
that was not exquisite" Consumed
with safety of beautiful things. she
was yet instinctively repelled by
the modern tendencies IN all the arts,
particularly in music. and she
turned instinctively toward the har-
monious romanticism and idealism Of
q previous age"
Lest any gentle reader, more used
to the ejaculatory method of the
modernists in fiction writing, turn
away in despair from what may
seem (from a few random eXtracts)
a vision of Ouida- and water, or AIMS
worth in Park avenue, let it be said
that this story, as it runs along,
gives no impression of being smoth-
cred in its own upholstery of words.
1t proceeds with the emphasis Of a
writer who is mot asking you. but
telling you; it gives an impression
Of intense virility in it's telling, and
If it's incidents are entirely unusual
they are still convincing, and it is
readily to be seen that the heroine is
an unusual person.
This quite superlative young lady,
with her heritage of GENERALIZATION,
naturally yearned for what she had
not herself experienced, the percep-
tionS of the artist, the exploration of
the ideal, and since she herself was
$50 fragile and moody, she dreamed
of physical strength and a triun-
phant will" None of her many suit
ors met her requirements, but she
kept in her desk magazine picture
Of Laurence Teck, the explorer of
Africa. whom she had never seen,
but whose likeness had fascinated
her mind. She went to week end
party at Mrs. Brassfield's country
house, where, emerging from the
dining room, the ladies crossed the
large, amber colored rug like NOV
ing images made of multicolored
light. Below their negligible bodices
hung draperies of brocade inter-
woven with metallic threads, of lace
dyed the colors of exotic flowers, of
tulle embroidered with iridescent
beads. Parting into groups, they
dotted the drawing room with the
gorgeousness of peacock blue and
jade green, the joyousness of petu-
MAS and the melancholy of orchids,
or the pale, intermelting tints of
rainbows seen through the spangle
of a shower" And at this party
Lila met her explorer. who had
been caught fortuitously by the lion
hunting Fanny Brassfield and car
ried home as an additional attrac-
ton.
Thirty-six hours after they had
met they were married by the rector
in the nearest village and whirled
away in the explorers car to his
rooms In New York.
And so the story begins after fifty
pages. and it is carried on with a
snap and rush through 300 pages
more. Unreasoning, overpowering
mutual attraction (exerted before
they had metz made them one, yet
the cleavage began at the very be-
ginning of their married life. The
girls inheritance instantly resisted
the influence so wholly alien. and
the life habit Of the man was equally
dominating. The tale is incredible
and fantastic, yet never absurd. AS
piece of sustained imaginative
writing, with no framework Of fact
or convention to hang upon, 1t is an
astonishing performance. 1t is told
almost in series of pictures. Some
scoffers may say Mr.. Whitman de-
liberately wrote it for the movies. as
thriller of the first order. Yet.
though it is specially adapted to
such reproduction, it is easier to be-
lieve that he wrote il out in that