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Zuleika Dobson; Or, An Oxford Love Story
·
Sir Max Beerbohm
3
A
cynosure
indeed!
A
hundred
eyes
were
fixed
on
her,
and
half
as
many
hearts
lost
to
her.
The
Warden
of
Judas
himself
had
mounted
on
his
nose
a
pair
of
black-rimmed
glasses.
Him
espying,
the
nymph
darted
in
his
direction.
The
throng
made
way
for
her.
She
was
at
his
side.
“Grandpapa!”
she
cried,
and
kissed
the
old
man
on
either
cheek.
(Not
a
youth
there
but
would
have
bartered
fifty
years
of
his
future
for
that
salute.)
“My
dear
Zuleika,”
he
said,
“welcome
to
Oxford!
Have
you
no
luggage?”
“Heaps!”
she
answered.
“And
a
maid
who
will
find
it.”
“Then,”
said
the
Warden,
“let
us
drive
straight
to
College.”
He
offered
her
his
arm,
and
they
proceeded
slowly
to
the
entrance.
She
chatted
gaily,
blushing
not
in
the
long
avenue
of
eyes
she
passed
through.
All
the
youths,
under
her
spell,
were
now
quite
oblivious
of
the
relatives
they
had
come
to
meet.
Parents,
sisters,
cousins,
ran
unclaimed
about
the
platform.
Undutiful,
all
the
youths
were
forming
a
serried
suite
to
their
enchantress.
In
silence
they
followed
her.
They
saw
her
leap
into
the
Warden’s
landau,
they
saw
the
Warden
seat
himself
upon
her
left.
Nor
was
it
until
the
landau
was
lost
to
sight
that
they
turned--how
slowly,
and
with
how
bad
a
grace!--to
look
for
their
relatives.
Through
those
slums
which
connect
Oxford
with
the
world,
the
landau
rolled
on
towards
Judas.
Not
many
youths
occurred,
for
nearly
all--it
was
the
Monday
of
Eights
Week--were
down
by
the
river,
cheering
the
crews.
There
did,
however,
come
spurring
by,
on
a
polo-pony,
a
very
splendid
youth.
His
straw
hat
was
encircled
with
a
riband
of
blue
and
white,
and
he
raised
it
to
the
Warden.
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