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Zuleika Dobson; Or, An Oxford Love Story
·
Sir Max Beerbohm
108
“He
is,”
said
Marraby.
“Then,
MacQuern,
you
are
hereby
President,
vice
myself
resigned.
Take
the
chair
and
propose
the
toast.”
“I
would
rather
not,”
said
The
MacQuern
after
a
pause.
“Then,
Marraby,
YOU
must.”
“Not
I!”
said
Marraby.
“Why
is
this?”
asked
the
Duke,
looking
from
one
to
the
other.
The
MacQuern,
with
Scotch
caution,
was
silent.
But
the
impulsive
Marraby--Madcap
Marraby,
as
they
called
him
in
B.N.C.--said
“It’s
because
I
won’t
lie!”
and,
leaping
up,
raised
his
glass
aloft
and
cried
“I
give
you
Zuleika
Dobson,
the
fairest
witch
that
ever
was
or
will
be!”
Mr.
Oover,
Lord
Sayes,
Mr.
Trent-Garby,
sprang
to
their
feet;
The
MacQuern
rose
to
his.
“Zuleika
Dobson!”
they
cried,
and
drained
their
glasses.
Then,
when
they
had
resumed
their
seats,
came
an
awkward
pause.
The
Duke,
still
erect
beside
the
chair
he
had
vacated,
looked
very
grave
and
pale.
Marraby
had
taken
an
outrageous
liberty.
But
“a
member
of
the
Junta
can
do
no
wrong,”
and
the
liberty
could
not
be
resented.
The
Duke
felt
that
the
blame
was
on
himself,
who
had
elected
Marraby
to
the
club.
Mr.
Oover,
too,
looked
grave.
All
the
antiquarian
in
him
deplored
the
sudden
rupture
of
a
fine
old
Oxford
tradition.
All
the
chivalrous
American
in
him
resented
the
slight
on
that
fair
victim
of
the
feudal
system,
Miss
O’Mora.
And,
at
the
same
time,
all
the
Abimelech
V.
in
him
rejoiced
at
having
honoured
by
word
and
act
the
one
woman
in
the
world.
Gazing
around
at
the
flushed
faces
and
heaving
shirt-fronts
of
the
diners,
the
Duke
forgot
Marraby’s
misdemeanour.
What
mattered
far
more
to
him
was
that
here
were
five
young
men
deeply
under
the
spell
of
Zuleika.
They
must
be
saved,
if
possible.
He
knew
how
strong
his
influence
was
in
the
University.
He
knew
also
how
strong
was
Zuleika’s.
He
had
not
much
hope
of
the
issue.
But
his
new-born
sense
of
duty
to
his
fellows
spurred
him
on.
“Is
there,”
he
asked
with
a
bitter
smile,
“any
one
of
you
who
doesn’t
with
his
whole
heart
love
Miss
Dobson?”
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