For example, the owner of the car is a curate, whose wife is supposed to
relate the story, and _George_ has to drive the Bishop in his unreliable
machine. Naturally one anticipates (a little drearily) upsets and ditches
and episcopal fury, instead of which--well, I think I won't tell you what
happens instead, but it is something at once far more probable and
pleasant. I must not forget to mention that the cast also includes a pair
of engaging lovers whom eventually the agency of the car unites. Indeed, to
pass over the lady would display on my part the blackest ingratitude, since
among her many attractive peculiarities it is expressly mentioned that she
(be still, O leaping heart!) reads the letter-press in _Punch_.
* * * * *
Mrs. EDITH MARY MOORE has devoted her great abilities to proving in _The
Blind Marksman_ (HODDER AND STOUGHTON) how shockingly bad the little god's
shooting became towards the end of last century. She proves it by the
frustrated hopes of _Jane_, her heroine, who in utter ignorance of life
marries a man whose pedestrian attitude of mind is quite unfitted to keep
pace with her own passionate and eager hurry of idealism. She becomes
household drudge to a master who cannot even talk the language which she
speaks naturally, and discovers in a man she has known all her life the
lover she should have married, only to lose him in the European War. Here
you have both _Jane_ and the ineffective husband--for whom I was sincerely
sorry, because he asked so very little of life and didn't even get
that--badly left, and the case against Cupid looks black.
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