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Zuleika Dobson; Or, An Oxford Love Story
·
Sir Max Beerbohm
185
Hardly
had
he
rejected
the
notion
when
he
had
a
glimpse
of
a
female
figure
coming
quickly
round
the
corner--a
glimpse
that
sent
him
walking
quickly
away,
across
the
road,
towards
Turl
Street,
blushing
violently.
Had
she
seen
him?
he
asked
himself.
And
had
she
seen
that
he
saw
her?
He
heard
her
running
after
him.
He
did
not
look
round,
he
quickened
his
pace.
She
was
gaining
on
him.
Involuntarily,
he
ran--ran
like
a
hare,
and,
at
the
corner
of
Turl
Street,
rose
like
a
trout,
saw
the
pavement
rise
at
him,
and
fell,
with
a
bang,
prone.
Let
it
be
said
at
once
that
in
this
matter
the
gods
were
absolutely
blameless.
It
is
true
they
had
decreed
that
a
piece
of
orange-peel
should
be
thrown
down
this
morning
at
the
corner
of
Turl
Street.
But
the
Master
of
Balliol,
not
the
Duke,
was
the
person
they
had
destined
to
slip
on
it.
You
must
not
imagine
that
they
think
out
and
appoint
everything
that
is
to
befall
us,
down
to
the
smallest
detail.
Generally,
they
just
draw
a
sort
of
broad
outline,
and
leave
us
to
fill
it
in
according
to
our
taste.
Thus,
in
the
matters
of
which
this
book
is
record,
it
was
they
who
made
the
Warden
invite
his
grand-daughter
to
Oxford,
and
invite
the
Duke
to
meet
her
on
the
evening
of
her
arrival.
And
it
was
they
who
prompted
the
Duke
to
die
for
her
on
the
following
(Tuesday)
afternoon.
They
had
intended
that
he
should
execute
his
resolve
after,
or
before,
the
boat-race
of
that
evening.
But
an
oversight
upset
this
plan.
They
had
forgotten
on
Monday
night
to
uncage
the
two
black
owls;
and
so
it
was
necessary
that
the
Duke’s
death
should
be
postponed.
They
accordingly
prompted
Zuleika
to
save
him.
For
the
rest,
they
let
the
tragedy
run
its
own
course--merely
putting
in
a
felicitous
touch
here
and
there,
or
vetoing
a
superfluity,
such
as
that
Katie
should
open
Zuleika’s
letter.
It
was
no
part
of
their
scheme
that
the
Duke
should
mistake
Melisande
for
her
mistress,
or
that
he
should
run
away
from
her,
and
they
were
genuinely
sorry
when
he,
instead
of
the
Master
of
Balliol,
came
to
grief
over
the
orange-peel.
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