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Zuleika Dobson; Or, An Oxford Love Story
·
Sir Max Beerbohm
245
“Where
am
I?”
asked
Katie,
at
length,
echoing
the
words
used
in
this
very
house,
at
a
similar
juncture,
on
this
very
day,
by
another
lover
of
the
Duke.
“Ah,
you
may
well
ask
that,”
said
Mrs.
Batch,
with
more
force
than
reason.
“A
mother’s
support
indeed!
Well!
And
as
for
you,”
she
cried,
turning
on
Clarence,
“sending
her
off
like
that
with
your--”
She
was
face
to
face
again
with
the
tragic
news.
Katie,
remembering
it
simultaneously,
uttered
a
loud
sob.
Mrs.
Batch
capped
this
with
a
much
louder
one.
Clarence
stood
before
the
fire,
slowly
revolving
on
one
heel.
His
clothes
steamed
briskly.
“It
isn’t
true,”
said
Katie.
She
rose
and
came
uncertainly
towards
her
brother,
half
threatening,
half
imploring.
“All
right,”
said
he,
strong
in
his
advantage.
“Then
I
shan’t
tell
either
of
you
anything
more.”
Mrs.
Batch
through
her
tears
called
Katie
a
bad
girl,
and
Clarence
a
bad
boy.
“Where
did
you
get
THEM?”
asked
Clarence,
pointing
to
the
ear-rings
worn
by
his
sister.
“HE
gave
me
them,”
said
Katie.
Clarence
curbed
the
brotherly
intention
of
telling
her
she
looked
“a
sight”
in
them.
She
stood
staring
into
vacancy.
“He
didn’t
love
HER,”
she
murmured.
“That
was
all
over.
I’ll
vow
he
didn’t
love
HER.”
“Who
d’you
mean
by
her?”
asked
Clarence.
“That
Miss
Dobson
that’s
been
here.”
“What’s
her
other
name?”
“Zuleika,”
Katie
enunciated
with
bitterest
abhorrence.
“Well,
then,
he
jolly
well
did
love
her.
That’s
the
name
he
called
out
just
before
he
threw
himself
in.
‘Zuleika!’--like
that,”
added
the
boy,
with
a
most
infelicitous
attempt
to
reproduce
the
Duke’s
manner.
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