I was keen to read this as fans of Oscar Wilde will recognise the author as Oscar's reliable Sphinx. Hoping for some flashes of Wildean wit and brilliance I was a little disappointed. There is a lightness of touch and melancholy flippancy that makes this more enjoyable than the usual lady novelist offering from the same period but it reads more like weak Ronald Firbank without the courage of his conviction with a sprinkling of Diary of a Nobody on top. Charming and rather dated, an enjoyable but not very impressive read.