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Zuleika Dobson; Or, An Oxford Love Story
·
Sir Max Beerbohm
266
“You
want
to
read
NOW--TO-NIGHT?”
“I
must
put
in
a
good
two
hours.
Where
are
the
books
that
were
on
my
table?”
Reverently--he
was
indeed
a
king
of
men--she
took
the
books
down
from
the
shelf,
and
placed
them
where
she
had
found
them.
And
she
knew
not
which
thrilled
her
the
more--the
kiss
he
gave
her
at
parting,
or
the
tone
in
which
he
told
her
that
the
one
thing
he
could
not
and
would
not
stand
was
having
his
books
disturbed.
Still
less
than
before
attuned
to
the
lugubrious
session
downstairs,
she
went
straight
up
to
her
attic,
and
did
a
little
dance
there
in
the
dark.
She
threw
open
the
lattice
of
the
dormer-window,
and
leaned
out,
smiling,
throbbing.
The
Emperors,
gazing
up,
saw
her
happy,
and
wondered;
saw
Noaks’
ring
on
her
finger,
and
would
fain
have
shaken
their
grey
heads.
Presently
she
was
aware
of
a
protrusion
from
the
window
beneath
hers.
The
head
of
her
beloved!
Fondly
she
watched
it,
wished
she
could
reach
down
to
stroke
it.
She
loved
him
for
having,
after
all,
left
his
books.
It
was
sweet
to
be
his
excuse.
Should
she
call
softly
to
him?
No,
it
might
shame
him
to
be
caught
truant.
He
had
already
chidden
her
for
prying.
So
she
did
but
gaze
down
on
his
head
silently,
wondering
whether
in
eighteen
years
it
would
be
bald,
wondering
whether
her
own
hair
would
still
have
the
fault
of
being
golden.
Most
of
all,
she
wondered
whether
he
loved
her
half
so
much
as
she
loved
him.
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