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Zuleika Dobson; Or, An Oxford Love Story
·
Sir Max Beerbohm
38
Noaks
sat
still,
peering
across
at
the
Duke.
For
the
first
time
in
his
life,
he
was
resentful
of
the
Duke’s
great
elegance
and
average
stature,
his
high
lineage
and
incomputable
wealth.
Hitherto,
these
things
had
been
too
remote
for
envy.
But
now,
suddenly,
they
seemed
near
to
him--nearer
and
more
overpowering
than
the
First
in
Mods
had
ever
been.
“And
of
course
she’s
in
love
with
you?”
he
snarled.
Really,
this
was
for
the
Duke
a
new
issue.
So
salient
was
his
own
passion
that
he
had
not
had
time
to
wonder
whether
it
were
returned.
Zuleika’s
behaviour
during
dinner...
But
that
was
how
so
many
young
women
had
behaved.
It
was
no
sign
of
disinterested
love.
It
might
mean
merely...
Yet
no!
Surely,
looking
into
her
eyes,
he
had
seen
there
a
radiance
finer
than
could
have
been
lit
by
common
ambition.
Love,
none
other,
must
have
lit
in
those
purple
depths
the
torches
whose
clear
flames
had
leapt
out
to
him.
She
loved
him.
She,
the
beautiful,
the
wonderful,
had
not
tried
to
conceal
her
love
for
him.
She
had
shown
him
all--had
shown
all,
poor
darling!
only
to
be
snubbed
by
a
prig,
driven
away
by
a
boor,
fled
from
by
a
fool.
To
the
nethermost
corner
of
his
soul,
he
cursed
himself
for
what
he
had
done,
and
for
all
he
had
left
undone.
He
would
go
to
her
on
his
knees.
He
would
implore
her
to
impose
on
him
insufferable
penances.
There
was
no
penance,
how
bittersweet
soever,
could
make
him
a
little
worthy
of
her.
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