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Zuleika Dobson; Or, An Oxford Love Story
·
Sir Max Beerbohm
270
Just
then
Zuleika
heard
a
little
sharp
sound
which,
for
the
fraction
of
an
instant,
before
she
knew
it
to
be
a
clink
of
metal
on
the
pavement,
she
thought
was
the
breaking
of
the
heart
within
her.
Looking
quickly
down,
she
heard
a
shrill
girlish
laugh
aloft.
Looking
quickly
up,
she
descried
at
the
unlit
window
above
her
lover’s
a
face
which
she
remembered
as
that
of
the
land-lady’s
daughter.
“Find
it,
Miss
Dobson,”
laughed
the
girl.
“Crawl
for
it.
It
can’t
have
rolled
far,
and
it’s
the
only
engagement-ring
you’ll
get
from
HIM,”
she
said,
pointing
to
the
livid
face
twisted
painfully
up
at
her
from
the
lower
window.
“Grovel
for
it,
Miss
Dobson.
Ask
him
to
step
down
and
help
you.
Oh,
he
can!
That
was
all
lies
about
his
spine
and
ankle.
Afraid,
that’s
what
he
was--I
see
it
all
now--afraid
of
the
water.
I
wish
you’d
found
him
as
I
did--skulking
behind
the
curtain.
Oh,
you’re
welcome
to
him.”
“Don’t
listen,”
Noaks
cried
down.
“Don’t
listen
to
that
person.
I
admit
I
have
trifled
with
her
affections.
This
is
her
revenge--these
wicked
untruths--these--these--”
Zuleika
silenced
him
with
a
gesture.
“Your
tone
to
me,”
she
said
up
to
Katie,
“is
not
without
offence;
but
the
stamp
of
truth
is
on
what
you
tell
me.
We
have
both
been
deceived
in
this
man,
and
are,
in
some
sort,
sisters.”
“Sisters?”
cried
Katie.
“Your
sisters
are
the
snake
and
the
spider,
though
neither
of
them
wishes
it
known.
I
loathe
you.
And
the
Duke
loathed
you,
too.”
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