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290
Zuleika Dobson; Or, An Oxford Love Story
·
Sir Max Beerbohm
192
“Rather.”
“You
are
truly
happy
in
that
prospect?”
“Yes.
Rather.”
“Now,
suppose
I
showed
you
two
pieces
of
equally
fine
amber--a
big
one
and
a
little
one.
Which
of
these
would
you
rather
possess?”
“The
big
one,
I
suppose.”
“And
this
because
it
is
better
to
have
more
than
to
have
less
of
a
good
thing?”
“Just
so.”
“Do
you
consider
happiness
a
good
thing
or
a
bad
one?”
“A
good
one.”
“So
that
a
man
would
rather
have
more
than
less
of
happiness?”
“Undoubtedly.”
“Then
does
it
not
seem
to
you
that
you
would
do
well
to
postpone
your
suicide
indefinitely?”
“But
I
have
just
said
I
can’t
live
without
her.”
“You
have
still
more
recently
declared
yourself
truly
happy.”
“Yes,
but--”
“Now,
be
careful,
Mr.
Smith.
Remember,
this
is
a
matter
of
life
and
death.
Try
to
do
yourself
justice.
I
have
asked
you--”
But
the
undergraduate
was
walking
away,
not
without
a
certain
dignity.
The
Duke
felt
that
he
had
not
handled
his
man
skilfully.
He
remembered
that
even
Socrates,
for
all
the
popular
charm
of
his
mock-modesty
and
his
true
geniality,
had
ceased
after
a
while
to
be
tolerable.
Without
such
a
manner
to
grace
his
method,
Socrates
would
have
had
a
very
brief
time
indeed.
The
Duke
recoiled
from
what
he
took
to
be
another
pitfall.
He
almost
smelt
hemlock.
A
party
of
four
undergraduates
abreast
was
approaching.
How
should
he
address
them?
His
choice
wavered
between
the
evangelic
wistfulness
of
“Are
you
saved?”
and
the
breeziness
of
the
recruiting
sergeant’s
“Come,
you’re
fine
upstanding
young
fellows.
Isn’t
it
a
pity,”
etc.
Meanwhile,
the
quartet
had
passed
by.
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