The book was followed by “Miss Lulu Bett.” Zona Gale studied in it again the effects of suppression, but with new methods of dramatic simplification. Her style is lighter; her portraits are more strikingly pathetic and resemblant. Lulu Bett is a scapegoat. A Cinderella at home and a slavey, her life is that of an automaton, and yet she possesses a romantic heart. We must admire the skill with which Zona Gale was able to keep her before us halfway between tears and laughter. Every reader remembers poor Lulu’s courtship by an adventurer who subsequently abandoned her, her devotion to the members of the household, her marriage to the village music-dealer, all incidents of a trivial nature, but sympathetically brought out to reveal the kind-hearted Lulu. Zona Gale’s pathos is direct and familiar, almost trivial, but pervaded with delicate and deep emotions. All inhibited people are not necessarily Ophelias or Lady Macbeths. There are many nuances to repression. Nevertheless, Lulu Bett is a romantic heroine. Watch her at the piano. She can play with only one finger and she is ignorant of real music, but the village piano-dealer visited her, and Lulu, as the saying goes, puts herself out.... When words fail, music is the natural interpreter of people who understand one another, especially if they are lovers. Here is the charming description of this timid concerto: Cornish was displaying his music. “Got up quite attractive,” he said--it was his formula of praise for his music. “But we can’t try it over,” Lulu said, “if Di doesn’t come.” “Well, say,” said Cornish shyly, “you know I left that Album of Old Favorites here. Some of them we know by heart.” Lulu looked. “I’ll tell you something,” she said, “there’s some of these I can play with one hand--by ear. Maybe----” “Why sure!” said Cornish. Lulu sat at the piano. She had on the wool chally, long sacred to the nights when she must combine her servant’s estate with the quality of being Ina’s sister. She wore her coral beads and her cameo cross. In her absence she had caught the trick of dressing her hair so that it looked even more abundant--but she had not dared to try it so until tonight, when Dwight was gone. Her long wrist was curved high, her thin hand pressed and fingered awkwardly, and at her mistakes her head dipped and stove to make all right. Her foot continuously touched the loud pedal--the blurred sound seemed to accomplish more. So she played “How Can I Leave Thee,” and they managed to sing it. So she played “Long, Long Ago,” and “Little Nell of Narragansett Bay.” Beyond open doors Mrs. Bett listened, sang, it may be, with them; for when the singers ceased, her voice might be heard still humming a loud closing bar. “Well!” Cornish cried to Lulu; and then, in the formal village phrase: “You’re quite a musician.”