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290
Zuleika Dobson; Or, An Oxford Love Story
·
Sir Max Beerbohm
263
“And
that
is
why
you
hid
yourself
just
now?”
“Yes,”
he
gladly
said.
“I
hid
myself
for
the
same
reason,”
he
added,
“when
I
heard
your
mother’s
footstep.”
“But,”
she
faltered,
with
a
sudden
doubt,
“that
bit
of
writing
which
Mother
found
on
the
table--”
“That?
Oh,
that
was
only
a
general
reflection,
copied
out
of
a
book.”
“Oh,
won’t
poor
Mother
be
glad
when
she
knows!”
“I
don’t
want
her
to
know,”
said
Noaks,
with
a
return
of
nervousness.
“You
mustn’t
tell
any
one.
I--the
fact
is--”
“Ah,
that
is
so
like
you!”
the
girl
said
tenderly.
“I
suppose
it
was
your
modesty
that
all
this
while
blinded
me.
Please,
sir,
I
have
a
confession
to
make
to
you.
Never
till
to-night
have
I
loved
you.”
Exquisite
was
the
shock
of
these
words
to
one
who,
not
without
reason,
had
always
assumed
that
no
woman
would
ever
love
him.
Before
he
knew
what
he
was
doing,
he
had
bent
down
and
kissed
the
sweet
upturned
face.
It
was
the
first
kiss
he
had
ever
given
outside
his
family
circle.
It
was
an
artless
and
a
resounding
kiss.
He
started
back,
dazed.
What
manner
of
man,
he
wondered,
was
he?
A
coward,
piling
profligacy
on
poltroonery?
Or
a
hero,
claiming
exemption
from
moral
law?
What
was
done
could
not
be
undone;
but
it
could
be
righted.
He
drew
off
from
the
little
finger
of
his
left
hand
that
iron
ring
which,
after
a
twinge
of
rheumatism,
he
had
to-day
resumed.
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