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290
Zuleika Dobson; Or, An Oxford Love Story
·
Sir Max Beerbohm
261
There
was
a
slight
quiver
of
the
curtain;
no
more.
Katie
repeated
her
words.
There
was
a
pause,
then
a
convulsion
of
the
curtain.
Noaks
stood
forth.
Always,
in
polishing
his
boots,
Katie
had
found
herself
thinking
of
him
as
a
man
of
prodigious
stature,
well
though
she
knew
him
to
be
quite
tiny.
Even
so
now,
at
recognition
of
his
boots,
she
had
fixed
her
eyes
to
meet
his,
when
he
should
emerge,
a
full
yard
too
high.
With
a
sharp
drop
she
focussed
him.
“By
what
right,”
he
asked,
“do
you
come
prying
about
my
room?”
This
was
a
stroke
so
unexpected
that
it
left
Katie
mute.
It
equally
surprised
Noaks,
who
had
been
about
to
throw
himself
on
his
knees
and
implore
this
girl
not
to
betray
him.
He
was
quick,
though,
to
clinch
his
advantage.
“This,”
he
said,
“is
the
first
time
I
have
caught
you.
Let
it
be
the
last.”
Was
this
the
little
man
she
had
so
long
despised,
and
so
superciliously
served?
His
very
smallness
gave
him
an
air
of
concentrated
force.
She
remembered
having
read
that
all
the
greatest
men
in
history
had
been
of
less
than
the
middle
height.
And--oh,
her
heart
leapt--here
was
the
one
man
who
had
scorned
to
die
for
Miss
Dobson.
He
alone
had
held
out
against
the
folly
of
his
fellows.
Sole
and
splendid
survivor
he
stood,
rock-footed,
before
her.
And
impulsively
she
abased
herself,
kneeling
at
his
feet
as
at
the
great
double
altar
of
some
dark
new
faith.
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