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Zuleika Dobson; Or, An Oxford Love Story
·
Sir Max Beerbohm
206
Yes,
he
had
controlled
himself.
But
this,
he
furiously
felt,
did
not
make
him
look
the
less
a
fool.
What
ought
he
to
have
SAID?
He
prayed,
as
he
followed
the
victorious
young
woman
downstairs,
that
l’esprit
de
l’escalier
might
befall
him.
Alas,
it
did
not.
“By
the
way,”
she
said,
when
he
had
shown
her
where
Balliol
lay,
“have
you
told
anybody
that
you
aren’t
dying
just
for
me?”
“No,”
he
answered,
“I
have
preferred
not
to.”
“Then
officially,
as
it
were,
and
in
the
eyes
of
the
world,
you
die
for
me?
Then
all’s
well
that
ends
well.
Shall
we
say
good-bye
here?
I
shall
be
on
the
Judas
Barge;
but
I
suppose
there
will
be
a
crush,
as
yesterday?”
“Sure
to
be.
There
always
is
on
the
last
night
of
the
Eights,
you
know.
Good-bye.”
“Good-bye,
little
John--small
John,”
she
cried
across
her
shoulder,
having
the
last
word.
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