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Zuleika Dobson; Or, An Oxford Love Story
·
Sir Max Beerbohm
148
She
laughed
shrilly
as
she
leapt
back,
letting
the
empty
jug
roll
over
on
the
carpet.
Then
she
stood
tense,
crouching,
her
hands
to
her
mouth,
her
eyes
askance,
as
much
as
to
say
“Now
I’ve
done
it!”
She
listened
hard,
holding
her
breath.
In
the
stillness
of
the
night
was
a
faint
sound
of
dripping
water,
and
presently
of
footsteps
going
away.
Then
stillness
unbroken.
XI
I
said
that
I
was
Clio’s
servant.
And
I
felt,
when
I
said
it,
that
you
looked
at
me
dubiously,
and
murmured
among
yourselves.
Not
that
you
doubted
I
was
somewhat
connected
with
Clio’s
household.
The
lady
after
whom
I
have
named
this
book
is
alive,
and
well
known
to
some
of
you
personally,
to
all
of
you
by
repute.
Nor
had
you
finished
my
first
page
before
you
guessed
my
theme
to
be
that
episode
in
her
life
which
caused
so
great
a
sensation
among
the
newspaper-reading
public
a
few
years
ago.
(It
all
seems
but
yesterday,
does
it
not?
They
are
still
vivid
to
us,
those
head-lines.
We
have
hardly
yet
ceased
to
be
edified
by
the
morals
pointed
in
those
leading
articles.)
And
yet
very
soon
you
found
me
behaving
just
like
any
novelist--reporting
the
exact
words
that
passed
between
the
protagonists
at
private
interviews--aye,
and
the
exact
thoughts
and
emotions
that
were
in
their
breasts.
Little
wonder
that
you
wondered!
Let
me
make
things
clear
to
you.
I
have
my
mistress’
leave
to
do
this.
At
first
(for
reasons
which
you
will
presently
understand)
she
demurred.
But
I
pointed
out
to
her
that
I
had
been
placed
in
a
false
position,
and
that
until
this
were
rectified
neither
she
nor
I
could
reap
the
credit
due
to
us.
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