It is Jean Kerr's special mode to create domestic episodes out of the mock-heroic survival of the quiet daily desperations and for this there is an enormous appreciation, even thirst, in her audiences. Her characters are honest and unpretentious about their own confusions, and have no illusions about their cosmic size, often affecting laconic self-mockery to adjust their eyes after some blur of shifting values or double standards. Some homey sensibility, we are given to believe, remains in focus as long as we don't take ourselves too seriously. The wayward husband returns twenty minutes into his tryst, having glimpsed his folly in the moment he stopped en route to buy antacid tablets. Damned precarious—St. Rolaids, pray for us—but salable situation comedy, and in Kerr no adjustment of self-importance is aimless. For it may allow what Kerr prizes most, what she sometimes brings to us out of...