know, Mrs. Glyn’s fine carelessness of popular opinion (either here or in the States), and the singleness of her regard for the art which she practises and which she honours.  Troubling herself about naught but splendour of subject and elevation of style, she goes on her career indifferent alike to the praise and to the blame of the mob. (I use the word “mob” in Fielding’s sense—­as meaning persons, in no matter what rank of life, capable of “low” feelings.) Perhaps Mrs. Glyn’s latest book is the supreme example of her genius and of her conscientiousness.  In essence it is a short story, handled with a fullness and a completeness which justify her in calling it a novel.  There are two principal characters, a young half-Cossack Russian prince and an English widow of good family.  The pet name of the former is “Gritzko.”  The latter is generally called Tamara.  Gritzko is one of those heroic heroes who can spend their nights in the company of prostitutes, and their days in the solution of deep military problems.  He is very wealthy; he has every attribute of a hero, including audacity.  During their very first dance together Gritzko kissed Tamara.  “They were up in a corner; every one’s back was turned to them happily, for in one second he had bent and kissed her neck.  It was done with such incredible swiftness....” etc.  “But the kiss burnt into Tamara’s flesh.” ... “‘How dare you?  How dare you?’ she hissed.”

* * * * *

Later, “...  ‘I hate you!’ almost hissed poor Tamara.” (Note the realistic exactitude of that “almost.”) “Then his eyes blazed....  He moved nearer to her, and spoke in a low concentrated voice:  ’It is a challenge; good.  Now listen to what I say:  In a little short time you shall love me.  That haughty little head shall be here on my breast without a struggle, and I shall kiss your lips until you cannot breathe.’  For the second time in her life Tamara went dead white....”  Then follow scenes revelry, in which Mrs. Glyn, with a courage as astonishing as her power, exposes all that is fatuous and vicious in the loftiest regions of Russian fashionable society.  Later, Gritzko did kiss Tamara on the lips, but she objected.  Still later he got the English widow in a lonely hut in a snowstorm, and this was “his hour.”  But she had a revolver. “‘Touch me and I will shoot,’ she gasped....  He made a step forward, but she lifted the pistol again to her head ... and thus they glared at one another, the hunter and the hunted....  He flung himself on the couch and lit a cigarette, and all that was savage and cruel in him flamed from his eyes.  ’My God!... and still I loved you—­madly loved you ... and last night when you defied me, then I determined you should belong to me by force.  No power in heaven or earth can save you!  Ah!  If you had been different, how happy we might have been!  But it is too late; the devil has won, and soon I will do what I please.’...  For a long time there