To this reader, an utterly unconvincing development of a theme with which many writers have played, in a story of a country town girl, strictly reared, untouched by emotional storms, who falls violently, unreasonably, in love, kicks over the traces, and throws her life away for a worthless, cheap fourflusher. Rose had all the qualities of the calendar chromo small town damsel; she lived on the wrong side of the tracks and was on the verge of being made heir to a rich eccentric old woman, when her benefactor died too soon -- and on the verge of marrying the town's most eligible bachelor, from the upper town, when she fell for a young god in the shape of the swimming instructor at a resort hotel where she'd gone (well chaperoned, but not assiduously enough) with her fiance to a medical convention. She goes completely off base, throws herself at him though he more than repulses her and even suggests he is more interested in ""the boys"" than ""the girls"". And finally, she breaks her engagement, tells Dr. Mark that it is her ""sister"" he should marry, and goes off to the despised big city on a job she doesn't want, simply to see her god again. When he shows his seamy side by marrying-for cold cash- a middle aged potentially rich widow, she thinks she is cured, and is on the verge of marrying the boss -- and again the wheel of chance turns. Her idol alone is saved in an airplace crash, he loses both legs, and she marries him, and becomes his willing slave, abject in her adoration and possession. So what? Nothing is proved -- and the story limps to a worthless end. It is not even well enough written to justify publication.