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Zuleika Dobson; Or, An Oxford Love Story
·
Sir Max Beerbohm
35
And
now
Oxford
was
astir
with
footsteps
and
laughter--the
laughter
and
quick
footsteps
of
youths
released
from
lecture-rooms.
The
Duke
shifted
from
the
window.
Somehow,
he
did
not
care
to
be
observed,
though
it
was
usually
at
this
hour
that
he
showed
himself
for
the
setting
of
some
new
fashion
in
costume.
Many
an
undergraduate,
looking
up,
missed
the
picture
in
the
window-frame.
The
Duke
paced
to
and
fro,
smiling
ecstatically.
He
took
the
two
studs
from
his
pocket
and
gazed
at
them.
He
looked
in
the
glass,
as
one
seeking
the
sympathy
of
a
familiar.
For
the
first
time
in
his
life,
he
turned
impatiently
aside.
It
was
a
new
kind
of
sympathy
he
needed
to-day.
The
front
door
slammed,
and
the
staircase
creaked
to
the
ascent
of
two
heavy
boots.
The
Duke
listened,
waited
irresolute.
The
boots
passed
his
door,
were
already
clumping
up
the
next
flight.
“Noaks!”
he
cried.
The
boots
paused,
then
clumped
down
again.
The
door
opened
and
disclosed
that
homely
figure
which
Zuleika
had
seen
on
her
way
to
Judas.
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