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Zuleika Dobson; Or, An Oxford Love Story
·
Sir Max Beerbohm
260
Presently,
after
a
last
look
round,
she
went
up
the
creaking
stairs,
to
do
Mr.
Noaks’
room.
She
found
on
the
table
that
screed
which
her
mother
had
recited
so
often
this
evening.
She
put
it
in
the
waste-paper
basket.
Also
on
the
table
were
a
lexicon,
a
Thucydides,
and
some
note-books.
These
she
took
and
shelved
without
a
tear
for
the
closed
labours
they
bore
witness
to.
The
next
disorder
that
met
her
eye
was
one
that
gave
her
pause--seemed,
indeed,
to
transfix
her.
Mr.
Noaks
had
never,
since
he
came
to
lodge
here,
possessed
more
than
one
pair
of
boots.
This
fact
had
been
for
her
a
lasting
source
of
annoyance;
for
it
meant
that
she
had
to
polish
Mr.
Noaks’
boots
always
in
the
early
morning,
when
there
were
so
many
other
things
to
be
done,
instead
of
choosing
her
own
time.
Her
annoyance
had
been
all
the
keener
because
Mr.
Noaks’
boots
more
than
made
up
in
size
for
what
they
lacked
in
number.
Either
of
them
singly
took
more
time
and
polish
than
any
other
pair
imaginable.
She
would
have
recognised
them,
at
a
glance,
anywhere.
Even
so
now,
it
was
at
a
glance
that
she
recognised
the
toes
of
them
protruding
from
beneath
the
window-curtain.
She
dismissed
the
theory
that
Mr.
Noaks
might
have
gone
utterly
unshod
to
the
river.
She
scouted
the
hypothesis
that
his
ghost
could
be
shod
thus.
By
process
of
elimination
she
arrived
at
the
truth.
“Mr.
Noaks,”
she
said
quietly,
“come
out
of
there.”
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