Yes, the great defect of Mrs. Miller’s stories is that we seldom care to know the people in them, the Mrs. Farrons, the Nancy Almars, nor even the Christine Fenimers and the innocent but tiresomely insipid Mathilde Severances. We will occasionally consent to meet them and watch them perform (better company being lacking at the moment) for one main reason and only one: the skill with which they are brought before us and there put through their tricks. And if our very figure of speech seems to have in it something derogatory, to imply that these persons are not much better than puppets, the implication is not without an honest significance. Moving among artificialities, surrounded by polite and transparent deceptions, it would be too much not to expect these “society” folk to partake of their environment. They are wholly mechanistic, to go to metaphysics for a suitable term; they are precious puppets and nothing more; thanks to Mrs. Miller’s skill the strings which control them are mostly invisible, but the jerky motion of them gives the secret away. Having been as honest about this as we know how to be, let us turn to the first pages of _Ladies Must Live_ and cull a few samples of Mrs. Miller’s writing, samples which will convey to those who have not read her some idea of her gift of epigram and facile and beautiful characterization: “Mrs. Ussher ... turned toward hidden social availability very much as the douser’s hazel wand turns toward the hidden spring.... She was unaware of her own powers, and really supposed that her sudden and usually ephemeral friendships were based on mutual attraction.... During the short period of their existence, Mrs. Ussher gave to these friendships the utmost loyalty and devotion. She agonized over the financial, domestic and romantic troubles of her friends; she sat up till the small hours, talking to them like a schoolgirl; during the height of their careers she organized plots for their assistance; and even when their stars were plainly on the decline, she would often ask them to lunch, if she happened to be alone. “Many people, we know, are prone to make friends with the rich and great. Mrs. Ussher’s genius consisted in having made friends with them before they were either.” Nancy Almar’s husband says to her: “‘I hope you’ll explain to them why I could not come.’ “‘You mean that I would not have gone if you had?’ “‘No,’ he said, ‘that I’m called South on business.’ “‘I shan’t tell them that, but I’ll tell them you say so, if you like.’” She was as good as her word--she usually was. “‘Would any one like to hear Roland’s explanation of why he is not with us?’ “‘Had it anything to do with his not being asked?’ said a pale young man; and as soon as he had spoken he glanced hastily round the circle to ascertain how his remark had succeeded.