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Zuleika Dobson; Or, An Oxford Love Story
·
Sir Max Beerbohm
212
“No,”
she
said
in
a
whisper;
“I
never
dared
to
hope
that.”
“Precisely,”
said
he.
“You
never
imagined
that
you
had
anything
to
gain
by
your
affection.
You
were
not
contriving
a
trap
for
me.
You
were
upheld
by
no
hope
of
becoming
a
young
Duchess,
with
more
frocks
than
you
could
wear
and
more
dross
than
you
could
scatter.
I
am
glad.
I
am
touched.
You
are
the
first
woman
that
has
loved
me
in
that
way.
Or
rather,”
he
muttered,
“the
first
but
one.
And
she...
Answer
me,”
he
said,
standing
over
the
girl,
and
speaking
with
a
great
intensity.
“If
I
were
to
tell
you
that
I
loved
you,
would
you
cease
to
love
me?”
“Oh
your
Grace!”
cried
the
girl.
“Why
no!
I
never
dared--”
“Enough!”
he
said.
“The
catechism
is
ended.
I
have
something
which
I
should
like
to
give
you.
Are
your
ears
pierced?”
“Yes,
your
Grace.”
“Then,
Katie,
honour
me
by
accepting
this
present.”
So
saying,
he
placed
in
the
girl’s
hand
the
black
pearl
and
the
pink.
The
sight
of
them
banished
for
a
moment
all
other
emotions
in
their
recipient.
She
forgot
herself.
“Lor!”
she
said.
“I
hope
you
will
wear
them
always
for
my
sake,”
said
the
Duke.
She
had
expressed
herself
in
the
monosyllable.
No
words
came
to
her
lips,
but
to
her
eyes
many
tears,
through
which
the
pearls
were
visible.
They
whirled
in
her
bewildered
brain
as
a
token
that
she
was
loved--loved
by
HIM,
though
but
yesterday
he
had
loved
another.
It
was
all
so
sudden,
so
beautiful.
You
might
have
knocked
her
down
(she
says
so
to
this
day)
with
a
feather.
Seeing
her
agitation,
the
Duke
pointed
to
a
chair,
bade
her
be
seated.
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