“SHE used words cubistically,” Leo Stein said of his sister. Her personality, too — so it seemed to outsiders
— had something of the perplexing contours which her friend Picasso brought to painting, Mr. Rogers, who knew her intermittently for thirty years, dispels some of the perplexity in his pleasant, unpretentious memoir. He writes gratefully of the pleasure he found in her company and soberly of the qualities which he esteems in some — by no means all — of her work. His warmth and loyalty, if they make him somewhat uncritical, are leavened with a common sense rare among Miss Stein’s partisans.