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290
Zuleika Dobson; Or, An Oxford Love Story
·
Sir Max Beerbohm
285
Zuleika
looked
at
the
casket,
and
then
very
gratefully
at
the
maid.
Her
art--how
had
she
forgotten
that?
Here
was
solace,
purpose.
She
would
work
as
she
had
never
worked
yet.
She
KNEW
that
she
had
it
in
her
to
do
better
than
she
had
ever
done.
She
confessed
to
herself
that
she
had
too
often
been
slack
in
the
matter
of
practice
and
rehearsal,
trusting
her
personal
magnetism
to
carry
her
through.
Only
last
night
she
had
badly
fumbled,
more
than
once.
Her
bravura
business
with
the
Demon
Egg-Cup
had
been
simply
vile.
The
audience
hadn’t
noticed
it,
perhaps,
but
she
had.
Now
she
would
perfect
herself.
Barely
a
fortnight
now
before
her
engagement
at
the
Folies
Bergeres!
What
if--no,
she
must
not
think
of
that!
But
the
thought
insisted.
What
if
she
essayed
for
Paris
that
which
again
and
again
she
had
meant
to
graft
on
to
her
repertory--the
Provoking
Thimble?
She
flushed
at
the
possibility.
What
if
her
whole
present
repertory
were
but
a
passing
phase
in
her
art--a
mere
beginning--an
earlier
manner?
She
remembered
how
marvellously
last
night
she
had
manipulated
the
ear-rings
and
the
studs.
Then
lo!
the
light
died
out
of
her
eyes,
and
her
face
grew
rigid.
That
memory
had
brought
other
memories
in
its
wake.
For
her,
when
she
fled
the
Broad,
Noaks’
window
had
blotted
out
all
else.
Now
she
saw
again
that
higher
window,
saw
that
girl
flaunting
her
ear-rings,
gibing
down
at
her.
“He
put
them
in
with
his
own
hands!”--the
words
rang
again
in
her
ears,
making
her
cheeks
tingle.
Oh,
he
had
thought
it
a
very
clever
thing
to
do,
no
doubt--a
splendid
little
revenge,
something
after
his
own
heart!
“And
he
kissed
me
in
the
open
street”--excellent,
excellent!
She
ground
her
teeth.
And
these
doings
must
have
been
fresh
in
his
mind
when
she
overtook
him
and
walked
with
him
to
the
house-boat!
Infamous!
And
she
had
then
been
wearing
his
studs!
She
drew
his
attention
to
them
when--
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