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Zuleika Dobson; Or, An Oxford Love Story
·
Sir Max Beerbohm
173
As
she
came
slowly
out,
with
eyes
downcast
to
her
broom,
sweeping
the
dust
so
seriously
over
the
doorstep
and
then
across
the
pavement,
and
anon
when
she
reappeared
with
pail
and
scrubbing-brush,
and
abased
herself
before
the
doorstep,
and
wrought
so
vehemently
there,
what
filled
her
little
soul
was
not
the
dignity
of
manual
labour.
The
duties
that
Zuleika
had
envied
her
were
dear
to
her
exactly
as
they
would
have
been,
yesterday
morning,
to
Zuleika.
The
Emperors
had
often
noticed
that
during
vacations
their
little
favourite’s
treatment
of
the
doorstep
was
languid
and
perfunctory.
They
knew
well
her
secret,
and
always
(for
who
can
be
long
in
England
without
becoming
sentimental?)
they
cherished
the
hope
of
a
romantic
union
between
her
and
“a
certain
young
gentleman,”
as
they
archly
called
the
Duke.
His
continued
indifference
to
her
they
took
almost
as
an
affront
to
themselves.
Where
in
all
England
was
a
prettier,
sweeter
girl
than
their
Katie?
The
sudden
irruption
of
Zuleika
into
Oxford
was
especially
grievous
to
them
because
they
could
no
longer
hope
against
hope
that
Katie
would
be
led
by
the
Duke
to
the
altar,
and
thence
into
the
highest
social
circles,
and
live
happily
ever
after.
Luckily
it
was
for
Katie,
however,
that
they
had
no
power
to
fill
her
head
with
their
foolish
notions.
It
was
well
for
her
to
have
never
doubted
she
loved
in
vain.
She
had
soon
grown
used
to
her
lot.
Not
until
yesterday
had
there
been
any
bitterness.
Jealousy
surged
in
Katie
at
the
very
moment
when
she
beheld
Zuleika
on
the
threshold.
A
glance
at
the
Duke’s
face
when
she
showed
the
visitor
up
was
enough
to
acquaint
her
with
the
state
of
his
heart.
And
she
did
not,
for
confirming
her
intuition,
need
the
two
or
three
opportunities
she
took
of
listening
at
the
keyhole.
What
in
the
course
of
those
informal
audiences
did
surprise
her--so
much
indeed
that
she
could
hardly
believe
her
ear--was
that
it
was
possible
for
a
woman
not
to
love
the
Duke.
Her
jealousy
of
“that
Miss
Dobson”
was
for
a
while
swallowed
up
in
her
pity
for
him.
What
she
had
borne
so
cheerfully
for
herself
she
could
not
bear
for
her
hero.
She
wished
she
had
not
happened
to
listen.
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