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Zuleika Dobson; Or, An Oxford Love Story
·
Sir Max Beerbohm
269
“Hush,”
she
cried,
“man
of
my
greater,
my
deeper
and
nobler
need!
Oh
hush,
ideal
which
not
consciously
I
was
out
for
to-night--ideal
vouchsafed
to
me
by
a
crowning
mercy!
I
sought
a
lover,
I
find
a
master.
I
sought
but
a
live
youth,
was
blind
to
what
his
survival
would
betoken.
Oh
master,
you
think
me
light
and
wicked.
You
stare
coldly
down
at
me
through
your
spectacles,
whose
glint
I
faintly
discern
now
that
the
moon
peeps
forth.
You
would
be
readier
to
forgive
me
the
havoc
I
have
wrought
if
you
could
for
the
life
of
you
understand
what
charm
your
friends
found
in
me.
You
marvel,
as
at
the
skull
of
Helen
of
Troy.
No,
you
don’t
think
me
hideous:
you
simply
think
me
plain.
There
was
a
time
when
I
thought
YOU
plain--you
whose
face,
now
that
the
moon
shines
full
on
it,
is
seen
to
be
of
a
beauty
that
is
flawless
without
being
insipid.
Oh
that
I
were
a
glove
upon
that
hand,
that
I
might
touch
that
cheek!
You
shudder
at
the
notion
of
such
contact.
My
voice
grates
on
you.
You
try
to
silence
me
with
frantic
though
exquisite
gestures,
and
with
noises
inarticulate
but
divine.
I
bow
to
your
will,
master.
Chasten
me
with
your
tongue.”
“I
am
not
what
you
think
me,”
gibbered
Noaks.
“I
was
not
afraid
to
die
for
you.
I
love
you.
I
was
on
my
way
to
the
river
this
afternoon,
but
I--I
tripped
and
sprained
my
ankle,
and--and
jarred
my
spine.
They
carried
me
back
here.
I
am
still
very
weak.
I
can’t
put
my
foot
to
the
ground.
As
soon
as
I
can--”
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