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Zuleika Dobson; Or, An Oxford Love Story
·
Sir Max Beerbohm
251
Through
the
open
door
of
the
drawing
room
she
saw
him,
standing
majestic,
draped
in
a
voluminous
black
gown.
Her
instinct
was
to
run
away;
but
this
she
conquered.
She
went
straight
in,
remembering
not
to
smile.
“Ah,
ah,”
said
the
Warden,
shaking
a
forefinger
at
her
with
old-world
playfulness.
“And
what
have
you
to
say
for
yourself?”
Relieved,
she
was
also
a
trifle
shocked.
Was
it
possible
that
he,
a
responsible
old
man,
could
take
things
so
lightly?
“Oh,
grand-papa,”
she
answered,
hanging
her
head,
“what
CAN
I
say?
It
is--it
is
too,
too,
dreadful.”
“There,
there,
my
dear.
I
was
but
jesting.
If
you
have
had
an
agreeable
time,
you
are
forgiven
for
playing
truant.
Where
have
you
been
all
day?”
She
saw
that
she
had
misjudged
him.
“I
have
just
come
from
the
river,”
she
said
gravely.
“Yes?
And
did
the
College
make
its
fourth
bump
to-night?”
“I--I
don’t
know,
grand-papa.
There
was
so
much
happening.
It--I
will
tell
you
all
about
it
at
dinner.”
“Ah,
but
to-night,”
he
said,
indicating
his
gown,
“I
cannot
be
with
you.
The
bump-supper,
you
know.
I
have
to
preside
in
Hall.”
Zuleika
had
forgotten
there
was
to
be
a
bump-supper,
and,
though
she
was
not
very
sure
what
a
bump-supper
was,
she
felt
it
would
be
a
mockery
to-night.
“But
grand-papa--”
she
began.
“My
dear,
I
cannot
dissociate
myself
from
the
life
of
the
College.
And,
alas,”
he
said,
looking
at
the
clock,
“I
must
leave
you
now.
As
soon
as
you
have
finished
dinner,
you
might,
if
you
would
care
to,
come
and
peep
down
at
us
from
the
gallery.
There
is
apt
to
be
some
measure
of
noise
and
racket,
but
all
of
it
good-humoured
and--boys
will
be
boys--pardonable.
Will
you
come?”
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