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Zuleika Dobson; Or, An Oxford Love Story
·
Sir Max Beerbohm
210
“Prius
insolentem
Serva
Briseis
niveo
colore
Movit
Achillem.”
Nor
were
it
gracious
to
invite
an
avowal
of
love
and
offer
none
in
return.
Yet,
yet,
expansive
though
his
mood
was,
he
could
not
pretend
to
himself
that
he
was
about
to
feel
in
this
girl’s
presence
anything
but
gratitude.
He
might
pretend
to
her?
Deception
were
a
very
poor
return
indeed
for
all
her
kindness.
Besides,
it
might
turn
her
head.
Some
small
token
of
his
gratitude--some
trinket
by
which
to
remember
him--was
all
that
he
could
allow
himself
to
offer...
What
trinket?
Would
she
like
to
have
one
of
his
scarf-pins?
Studs?
Still
more
abs--Ah!
he
had
it,
he
literally
and
most
providentially
had
it,
there,
in
the
fender:
a
pair
of
ear-rings!
He
plucked
the
pink
pearl
and
the
black
from
where
they
lay,
and
rang
the
bell.
His
sense
of
dramatic
propriety
needed
that
the
girl
should,
before
he
addressed
her,
perform
her
task
of
clearing
the
table.
If
she
had
it
to
perform
after
telling
her
love,
and
after
receiving
his
gift
and
his
farewell,
the
bathos
would
be
distressing
for
them
both.
But,
while
he
watched
her
at
her
task,
he
did
wish
she
would
be
a
little
quicker.
For
the
glow
in
him
seemed
to
be
cooling
momently.
He
wished
he
had
had
more
than
three
glasses
from
the
crusted
bottle
which
she
was
putting
away
into
the
chiffonier.
Down,
doubt!
Down,
sense
of
disparity!
The
moment
was
at
hand.
Would
he
let
it
slip?
Now
she
was
folding
up
the
table-cloth,
now
she
was
going.
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