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Zuleika Dobson; Or, An Oxford Love Story
·
Sir Max Beerbohm
23
“Married?”
asked
the
Duke.
“No,”
said
the
Warden;
and
a
cloud
of
annoyance
crossed
the
boy’s
face.
“No;
she
devotes
her
life
entirely
to
good
works.”
“A
hospital
nurse?”
the
Duke
murmured.
“No,
Zuleika’s
appointed
task
is
to
induce
delightful
wonder
rather
than
to
alleviate
pain.
She
performs
conjuring-tricks.”
“Not--not
Miss
Zuleika
Dobson?”
cried
the
Duke.
“Ah
yes.
I
forgot
that
she
had
achieved
some
fame
in
the
outer
world.
Perhaps
she
has
already
met
you?”
“Never,”
said
the
young
man
coldly.
“But
of
course
I
have
heard
of
Miss
Dobson.
I
did
not
know
she
was
related
to
you.”
The
Duke
had
an
intense
horror
of
unmarried
girls.
All
his
vacations
were
spent
in
eluding
them
and
their
chaperons.
That
he
should
be
confronted
with
one
of
them--with
such
an
one
of
them!--in
Oxford,
seemed
to
him
sheer
violation
of
sanctuary.
The
tone,
therefore,
in
which
he
said
“I
shall
be
charmed,”
in
answer
to
the
Warden’s
request
that
he
would
take
Zuleika
into
dinner,
was
very
glacial.
So
was
his
gaze
when,
a
moment
later,
the
young
lady
made
her
entry.
“She
did
not
look
like
an
orphan,”
said
the
wife
of
the
Oriel
don,
subsequently,
on
the
way
home.
The
criticism
was
a
just
one.
Zuleika
would
have
looked
singular
in
one
of
those
lowly
double-files
of
straw-bonnets
and
drab
cloaks
which
are
so
steadying
a
feature
of
our
social
system.
Tall
and
lissom,
she
was
sheathed
from
the
bosom
downwards
in
flamingo
silk,
and
she
was
liberally
festooned
with
emeralds.
Her
dark
hair
was
not
even
strained
back
from
her
forehead
and
behind
her
ears,
as
an
orphan’s
should
be.
Parted
somewhere
at
the
side,
it
fell
in
an
avalanche
of
curls
upon
one
eyebrow.
From
her
right
ear
drooped
heavily
a
black
pearl,
from
her
left
a
pink;
and
their
difference
gave
an
odd,
bewildering
witchery
to
the
little
face
between.
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