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Zuleika Dobson; Or, An Oxford Love Story
·
Sir Max Beerbohm
201
“Release
you?
As
if
you
were
ever
bound!
Don’t
torture
me!”
He
wondered
what
deep
game
she
was
playing.
Very
real,
though,
her
anguish
seemed;
and,
if
real
it
was,
then--he
stared,
he
gasped--there
could
be
but
one
explanation.
He
put
it
to
her.
“You
love
me?”
“With
all
my
soul.”
His
heart
leapt.
If
she
spoke
truth,
then
indeed
vengeance
was
his!
But
“What
proof
have
I?”
he
asked
her.
“Proof?
Have
men
absolutely
NO
intuition?
If
you
need
proof,
produce
it.
Where
are
my
ear-rings?”
“Your
ear-rings?
Why?”
Impatiently
she
pointed
to
two
white
pearls
that
fastened
the
front
of
her
blouse.
“These
are
your
studs.
It
was
from
them
I
had
the
great
first
hint
this
morning.”
“Black
and
pink,
were
they
not,
when
you
took
them?”
“Of
course.
And
then
I
forgot
that
I
had
them.
When
I
undressed,
they
must
have
rolled
on
to
the
carpet.
Melisande
found
them
this
morning
when
she
was
making
the
room
ready
for
me
to
dress.
That
was
just
after
she
came
back
from
bringing
you
my
first
letter.
I
was
bewildered.
I
doubted.
Might
not
the
pearls
have
gone
back
to
their
natural
state
simply
through
being
yours
no
more?
That
is
why
I
wrote
again
to
you,
my
own
darling--a
frantic
little
questioning
letter.
When
I
heard
how
you
had
torn
it
up,
I
knew,
I
knew
that
the
pearls
had
not
mocked
me.
I
telescoped
my
toilet
and
came
rushing
round
to
you.
How
many
hours
have
I
been
waiting
for
you?”
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