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290
Zuleika Dobson; Or, An Oxford Love Story
·
Sir Max Beerbohm
287
And
certainly,
just
then,
Zuleika
was
looking
very
amiable
indeed.
The
look
was
transient.
Nothing,
she
reflected,
could
undo
what
the
Duke
had
done.
That
hateful,
impudent
girl
would
take
good
care
that
every
one
should
know.
“He
put
them
in
with
his
own
hands.”
HER
ear-rings!
“He
kissed
me
in
the
public
street.
He
loved
me”...
Well,
he
had
called
out
“Zuleika!”
and
every
one
around
had
heard
him.
That
was
something.
But
how
glad
all
the
old
women
in
the
world
would
be
to
shake
their
heads
and
say
“Oh,
no,
my
dear,
believe
me!
It
wasn’t
anything
to
do
with
HER.
I’m
told
on
the
very
best
authority,”
and
so
forth,
and
so
on.
She
knew
he
had
told
any
number
of
undergraduates
he
was
going
to
die
for
her.
But
they,
poor
fellows,
could
not
bear
witness.
And
good
heavens!
If
there
were
a
doubt
as
to
the
Duke’s
motive,
why
not
doubts
as
to
theirs?...
But
many
of
them
had
called
out
“Zuleika!”
too.
And
of
course
any
really
impartial
person
who
knew
anything
at
all
about
the
matter
at
first
hand
would
be
sure
in
his
own
mind
that
it
was
perfectly
absurd
to
pretend
that
the
whole
thing
wasn’t
entirely
and
absolutely
for
her...
And
of
course
some
of
the
men
must
have
left
written
evidence
of
their
intention.
She
remembered
that
at
The
MacQuern’s
to-day
was
a
Mr.
Craddock,
who
had
made
a
will
in
her
favour
and
wanted
to
read
it
aloud
to
her
in
the
middle
of
luncheon.
Oh,
there
would
be
proof
positive
as
to
many
of
the
men.
But
of
the
others
it
would
be
said
that
they
died
in
trying
to
rescue
their
comrades.
There
would
be
all
sorts
of
silly
far-fetched
theories,
and
downright
lies
that
couldn’t
be
disproved...
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