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Zuleika Dobson; Or, An Oxford Love Story
·
Sir Max Beerbohm
214
“I
am
glad
to
hear
of
these
accomplishments.
They
do
you
great
credit,
I
am
sure.
But--well,
I
do
not
quite
see
why
you
enumerate
them
just
now.”
“It
isn’t
that
I
am
vain,”
she
pleaded.
“I
only
mentioned
them
because
...
oh,
don’t
you
see?
If
I’m
not
ignorant,
I
shan’t
disgrace
you.
People
won’t
be
so
able
to
say
you’ve
been
and
thrown
yourself
away.”
“Thrown
myself
away?
What
do
you
mean?”
“Oh,
they’ll
make
all
sorts
of
objections,
I
know.
They’ll
all
be
against
me,
and--”
“For
heaven’s
sake,
explain
yourself.”
“Your
aunt,
she
looked
a
very
proud
lady--very
high
and
hard.
I
thought
so
when
she
came
here
last
term.
But
you’re
of
age.
You’re
your
own
master.
Oh,
I
trust
you;
you’ll
stand
by
me.
If
you
love
me
really
you
won’t
listen
to
them.”
“Love
you?
I?
Are
you
mad?”
Each
stared
at
the
other,
utterly
bewildered.
The
girl
was
the
first
to
break
the
silence.
Her
voice
came
in
a
whisper.
“You’ve
not
been
playing
a
joke
on
me?
You
meant
what
you
said,
didn’t
you?”
“What
have
I
said?”
“You
said
you
loved
me.”
“You
must
be
dreaming.”
“I’m
not.
Here
are
the
ear-rings
you
gave
me.”
She
pinched
them
as
material
proof.
“You
said
you
loved
me
just
before
you
gave
me
them.
You
know
you
did.
And
if
I
thought
you’d
been
laughing
at
me
all
the
time--I’d--I’d”--a
sob
choked
her
voice--“I’d
throw
them
in
your
face!”
“You
must
not
speak
to
me
in
that
manner,”
said
the
Duke
coldly.
“And
let
me
warn
you
that
this
attempt
to
trap
me
and
intimidate
me--”
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