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Zuleika Dobson; Or, An Oxford Love Story
·
Sir Max Beerbohm
59
What
with
her
fine
silk
gowns
and
farthingales,
and
her
powder-closet,
and
the
canopied
bed
she
slept
in--a
bed
bigger
far
than
the
room
she
had
slept
in
with
her
sisters,
and
standing
in
a
room
far
bigger
than
her
father’s
cottage;
and
what
with
Betty,
her
maid,
who
had
pinched
and
teased
her
at
the
village-school,
but
now
waited
on
her
so
meekly
and
trembled
so
fearfully
at
a
scolding;
and
what
with
the
fine
hot
dishes
that
were
set
before
her
every
day,
and
the
gallant
speeches
and
glances
of
the
fine
young
gentlemen
whom
the
Duke
invited
from
London,
Duchess
Meg
was
quite
the
happiest
Duchess
in
all
England.
For
a
while,
she
was
like
a
child
in
a
hay-rick.
But
anon,
as
the
sheer
delight
of
novelty
wore
away,
she
began
to
take
a
more
serious
view
of
her
position.
She
began
to
realise
her
responsibilities.
She
was
determined
to
do
all
that
a
great
lady
ought
to
do.
Twice
every
day
she
assumed
the
vapours.
She
schooled
herself
in
the
mysteries
of
Ombre,
of
Macao.
She
spent
hours
over
the
tambour-frame.
She
rode
out
on
horse-back,
with
a
riding-master.
She
had
a
music-master
to
teach
her
the
spinet;
a
dancing-master,
too,
to
teach
her
the
Minuet
and
the
Triumph
and
the
Gaudy.
All
these
accomplishments
she
found
mighty
hard.
She
was
afraid
of
her
horse.
All
the
morning,
she
dreaded
the
hour
when
it
would
be
brought
round
from
the
stables.
She
dreaded
her
dancing-lesson.
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