"Mr, Hornung is one of the foremost writers, and Australia is, as she should be, proud of him. There is a freshness and vigor in his writings which belongs to few men. He is master of his subjects. His characters are men of flesh. There are no subtle soul studies in his books."—San Francisco Bulletin.
ways of irony and sarcasm, and their minds ran in those curves. A little bitterness was in the blood, and Moya could not help being a Bethune.
But she had finer qualities than were rife--or at all events conspicuous--in the rank and file of her distinguished family. She had the quality of essential sweetness which excited their humorous contempt, and she was miraculously free from their innate and unparalleled cynicism. At her worst she had warm feelings, justly balanced by the faculty of cold expression. And at her best she was quick to see her faults and to deplore them; a candid and enthusiastic friend; staunch at your side, sincere to your face, loyal at all costs behind your back.
It was this loyalty that came to her rescue now: she stood suddenly self-convicted of a whole calendar of secret crime against the man whom she professed to love. Did she love him? Could she possibly love him, and so turn on him in an instant, even in her heart? Oh, yes, yes! She was a little fool, that was all;