Distinguishing between Mabel Esther Allan's transatlantic ventures is becoming increasingly difficult: hands across the sea waving amity, feet scurrying briskly through a pitter-patterned little mystery involving theft of one kind or another (this time it's jewels and furs) and at least one heart. Gay Selby, in New York, makes a friend of also-English-born Annabel who suspects the young man with whom her sister Cressida has fallen in love and they follow him busily from a restaurant to a ship in port to Scarsdale. . . . Wholesome as Hovis bread and benign as cambric tea.