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Zuleika Dobson; Or, An Oxford Love Story
·
Sir Max Beerbohm
178
“Z.
D.
“P.S.--Please
burn
this.”
At
that
final
injunction,
the
Duke
abandoned
himself
to
his
mirth.
“Please
burn
this.”
Poor
dear
young
woman,
how
modest
she
was
in
the
glare
of
her
diplomacy!
Why
there
was
nothing,
not
one
phrase,
to
compromise
her
in
the
eyes
of
a
coroner’s
jury!...
Seriously,
she
had
good
reason
to
be
proud
of
her
letter.
For
the
purpose
in
view
it
couldn’t
have
been
better
done.
That
was
what
made
it
so
touchingly
absurd.
He
put
himself
in
her
position.
He
pictured
himself
as
her,
“sitting
up
in
bed,”
pencil
in
hand,
to
explain
away,
to
soothe,
to
clinch
and
bind...
Yes,
if
he
had
happened
to
be
some
other
man--one
whom
her
insult
might
have
angered
without
giving
love
its
death-blow,
and
one
who
could
be
frightened
out
of
not
keeping
his
word--this
letter
would
have
been
capital.
He
helped
himself
to
some
more
marmalade,
and
poured
out
another
cup
of
coffee.
Nothing
is
more
thrilling,
thought
he,
than
to
be
treated
as
a
cully
by
the
person
you
hold
in
the
hollow
of
your
hand.
But
within
this
great
irony
lay
(to
be
glided
over)
another
irony.
He
knew
well
in
what
mood
Zuleika
had
done
what
she
had
done
to
him
last
night;
yet
he
preferred
to
accept
her
explanation
of
it.
Officially,
then,
he
acquitted
her
of
anything
worse
than
tomboyishness.
But
this
verdict
for
his
own
convenience
implied
no
mercy
to
the
culprit.
The
sole
point
for
him
was
how
to
administer
her
punishment
the
most
poignantly.
Just
how
should
he
word
his
letter?
Marker
Marker
Fine marker
White-out
Fine white-out
Circle
Paint
Unmarker
Hand
Scalpel
Dice
Sieve
Purify
Undo
Redo
Start over
