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290
Zuleika Dobson; Or, An Oxford Love Story
·
Sir Max Beerbohm
255
Those
who
sat
opposite
to
the
Warden,
with
their
backs
to
the
void,
were
oblivious
of
the
matter
that
had
so
recently
teased
them.
They
were
conscious
only
of
an
agreeable
hush,
in
which
they
peered
down
the
vistas
of
the
future,
watching
the
tradition
of
Pedby’s
grace
as
it
rolled
brighter
and
ever
brighter
down
to
eternity.
The
pop
of
a
champagne
cork
startled
them
to
remembrance
that
this
was
a
bump-supper,
and
a
bump-supper
of
a
peculiar
kind.
The
turbot
that
came
after
the
soup,
the
champagne
that
succeeded
the
sherry,
helped
to
quicken
in
these
men
of
thought
the
power
to
grapple
with
a
reality.
The
aforesaid
three
or
four
who
had
been
down
at
the
river
recovered
their
lost
belief
in
the
evidence
of
their
eyes
and
ears.
In
the
rest
was
a
spirit
of
receptivity
which,
as
the
meal
went
on,
mounted
to
conviction.
The
Sub-Warden
made
a
second
and
more
determined
attempt
to
enlighten
the
Warden;
but
the
Warden’s
eye
met
his
with
a
suspicion
so
cruelly
pointed
that
he
again
floundered
and
gave
in.
All
adown
those
empty
other
tables
gleamed
the
undisturbed
cutlery,
and
the
flowers
in
the
pots
innocently
bloomed.
And
all
adown
either
wall,
unneeded
but
undisbanded,
the
scouts
remained.
Some
of
the
elder
ones
stood
with
closed
eyes
and
heads
sunk
forward,
now
and
again
jerking
themselves
erect,
and
blinking
around,
wondering,
remembering.
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