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290
Zuleika Dobson; Or, An Oxford Love Story
·
Sir Max Beerbohm
100
Turning
to
Sir
John
and
The
MacQuern,
the
Duke
said
“I
present
Mr.
Abimelech
V.
Oover,
of
Trinity.”
“The
Junta,”
they
replied,
“is
honoured.”
“Gentlemen,”
said
the
Rhodes
Scholar,
“your
good
courtesy
is
just
such
as
I
would
have
anticipated
from
members
of
the
ancient
Junta.
Like
most
of
my
countrymen,
I
am
a
man
of
few
words.
We
are
habituated
out
there
to
act
rather
than
talk.
Judged
from
the
view-point
of
your
beautiful
old
civilisation,
I
am
aware
my
curtness
must
seem
crude.
But,
gentlemen,
believe
me,
right
here--”
“Dinner
is
served,
your
Grace.”
Thus
interrupted,
Mr.
Oover,
with
the
resourcefulness
of
a
practised
orator,
brought
his
thanks
to
a
quick
but
not
abrupt
conclusion.
The
little
company
passed
into
the
front
room.
Through
the
window,
from
the
High,
fading
daylight
mingled
with
the
candle-light.
The
mulberry
coats
of
the
hosts,
interspersed
by
the
black
ones
of
the
guests,
made
a
fine
pattern
around
the
oval
table
a-gleam
with
the
many
curious
pieces
of
gold
and
silver
plate
that
had
accrued
to
the
Junta
in
course
of
years.
The
President
showed
much
deference
to
his
guest.
He
seemed
to
listen
with
close
attention
to
the
humorous
anecdote
with
which,
in
the
American
fashion,
Mr.
Oover
inaugurated
dinner.
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