I rather suspect Mrs. GERTRUDE ATHERTON of having written _The
Avalanche_ (MURRAY) either for the amusement of exercise in an
unfamiliar medium, or, well, for any motive that might explain a
production certainly not quite up to her own standard. Its publishers
(who may be prejudiced) consider _The Avalanche_ as "a brilliant and
engaging study of mystery and romance;" me it impressed as a melodrama
dependent on one long-heralded sensation, which proves on tardy arrival
an affair of disappointment. I suppose I must be careful not to give
away the mystery, such as it is. _Price Rugler_ was anxious to discover
why his attractive wife assumed a worried look when money was mentioned
and fainted on being told that she was not to wear the family ruby at a
particular masque. All this happened (you may not be astonished to hear)
in San Francisco, amongst that luxurious, idle, over-moneyed society
whose manners Mrs. ATHERTON knows and describes so well. _Price_ had
already found out, with the assistance of a not too brilliant detective,
that his wife's mother derived her income from a gambling saloon;
the remaining problem was how to link up this knowledge with the odd
behaviour of _Mrs. Price_. Perhaps you see it already. She had been--No,
I said I wouldn't, and I won't. Of course the discovery couldn't be
called cheerful, though it was fortunately made in time to prevent any
great harm. But it was nothing like an avalanche.

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[Illustration: UNRECORDED HISTORY.

INCONSIDERATE FLAPPER WAYLAYS KING JOHN ON HIS RETURN FROM SIGNING MAGNA
CARTA AT RUNNYMEDE.]

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