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Zuleika Dobson; Or, An Oxford Love Story
·
Sir Max Beerbohm
262
“You
are
great,
sir,
you
are
wonderful,”
she
said,
gazing
up
to
him,
rapt.
It
was
the
first
time
she
had
ever
called
him
“sir.”
It
is
easier,
as
Michelet
suggested,
for
a
woman
to
change
her
opinion
of
a
man
than
for
him
to
change
his
opinion
of
himself.
Noaks,
despite
the
presence
of
mind
he
had
shown
a
few
moments
ago,
still
saw
himself
as
he
had
seen
himself
during
the
past
hours:
that
is,
as
an
arrant
little
coward--one
who
by
his
fear
to
die
had
put
himself
outside
the
pale
of
decent
manhood.
He
had
meant
to
escape
from
the
house
at
dead
of
night
and,
under
an
assumed
name,
work
his
passage
out
to
Australia--a
land
which
had
always
made
strong
appeal
to
his
imagination.
No
one,
he
had
reflected,
would
suppose
because
his
body
was
not
retrieved
from
the
water
that
he
had
not
perished
with
the
rest.
And
he
had
looked
to
Australia
to
make
a
man
of
him
yet:
in
Encounter
Bay,
perhaps,
or
in
the
Gulf
of
Carpentaria,
he
might
yet
end
nobly.
Thus
Katie’s
behaviour
was
as
much
an
embarrassment
as
a
relief;
and
he
asked
her
in
what
way
he
was
great
and
wonderful.
“Modest,
like
all
heroes!”
she
cried,
and,
still
kneeling,
proceeded
to
sing
his
praises
with
a
so
infectious
fervour
that
Noaks
did
begin
to
feel
he
had
done
a
fine
thing
in
not
dying.
After
all,
was
it
not
moral
cowardice
as
much
as
love
that
had
tempted
him
to
die?
He
had
wrestled
with
it,
thrown
it.
“Yes,”
said
he,
when
her
rhapsody
was
over,
“perhaps
I
am
modest.”
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