Young Edwardians play musical chairs with each other's affections for a hundred more pages than necessary. Part historical document and part psychological exploration, this is a quiet novel, almost obsessed with the interior experiences of its characters.

The first half is more polished than the second, resulting in an unevenly balanced story that meanders toward a not-entirely-satisfactory conclusion, with some pit stops in the realm of dramatic farce along the way. Its strength lies in Woolf's expert handling of the subtle and unspoken undercurrents of longing that unrequited love inspires.

It's a novel of manners, though without particular effervescence or excess of layers.