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290
Zuleika Dobson; Or, An Oxford Love Story
·
Sir Max Beerbohm
280
“Was
she
incapable
of
love?”
“No,
it
was
notorious
in
her
circle
that
she
had
loved
often,
but
loved
in
vain.”
“Why
did
she
marry
you?”
“I
think
she
was
fatigued
by
my
importunities.
She
was
not
very
strong.
But
it
may
be
that
she
married
me
out
of
pique.
She
never
told
me.
I
did
not
inquire.”
“Yet
you
were
very
happy
with
her?”
“While
she
lived,
I
was
ideally
happy.”
The
young
woman
stretched
out
a
hand,
and
laid
it
on
the
clasped
hands
of
the
old
man.
He
sat
gazing
into
the
past.
She
was
silent
for
a
while;
and
in
her
eyes,
still
fixed
intently
on
his
face,
there
were
tears.
“Grand-papa
dear”--but
there
were
tears
in
her
voice,
too.
“My
child,
you
don’t
understand.
If
I
had
needed
pity--”
“I
do
understand--so
well.
I
wasn’t
pitying
you,
dear,
I
was
envying
you
a
little.”
“Me?--an
old
man
with
only
the
remembrance
of
happiness?”
“You,
who
have
had
happiness
granted
to
you.
That
isn’t
what
made
me
cry,
though.
I
cried
because
I
was
glad.
You
and
I,
with
all
this
great
span
of
years
between
us,
and
yet--so
wonderfully
alike!
I
had
always
thought
of
myself
as
a
creature
utterly
apart.”
“Ah,
that
is
how
all
young
people
think
of
themselves.
It
wears
off.
Tell
me
about
this
wonderful
resemblance
of
ours.”
He
sat
attentive
while
she
described
her
heart
to
him.
But
when,
at
the
close
of
her
confidences,
she
said,
“So
you
see
it’s
a
case
of
sheer
heredity,
grand-papa,”
the
word
“Fiddlesticks!”
would
out.
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