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290
Zuleika Dobson; Or, An Oxford Love Story
·
Sir Max Beerbohm
281
“Forgive
me,
my
dear,”
he
said,
patting
her
hand.
“I
was
very
much
interested.
But
I
do
believe
young
people
are
even
more
staggered
by
themselves
than
they
were
in
my
day.
And
then,
all
these
grand
theories
they
fall
back
on!
Heredity...
as
if
there
were
something
to
baffle
us
in
the
fact
of
a
young
woman
liking
to
be
admired!
And
as
if
it
were
passing
strange
of
her
to
reserve
her
heart
for
a
man
she
can
respect
and
look
up
to!
And
as
if
a
man’s
indifference
to
her
were
not
of
all
things
the
likeliest
to
give
her
a
sense
of
inferiority
to
him!
You
and
I,
my
dear,
may
in
some
respects
be
very
queer
people,
but
in
the
matter
of
the
affections
we
are
ordinary
enough.”
“Oh
grand-papa,
do
you
really
mean
that?”
she
cried
eagerly.
“At
my
age,
a
man
husbands
his
resources.
He
says
nothing
that
he
does
not
really
mean.
The
indifference
between
you
and
other
young
women
is
that
which
lay
also
between
me
and
other
young
men:
a
special
attractiveness...
Thousands
of
slippers,
did
I
say?
Tens
of
thousands.
I
had
hoarded
them
with
a
fatuous
pride.
On
the
evening
of
my
betrothal
I
made
a
bonfire
of
them,
visible
from
three
counties.
I
danced
round
it
all
night.”
And
from
his
old
eyes
darted
even
now
the
reflections
of
those
flames.
“Glorious!”
whispered
Zuleika.
“But
ah,”
she
said,
rising
to
her
feet,
“tell
me
no
more
of
it--poor
me!
You
see,
it
isn’t
a
mere
special
attractiveness
that
I
have.
I
am
irresistible.”
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