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Zuleika Dobson; Or, An Oxford Love Story
·
Sir Max Beerbohm
63
“That
you
would
not
breathe
freely--that
you
would
starve
(if
I
may
use
a
somewhat
fantastic
figure)
among
those
strawberry-leaves.
And
so
I
told
you
the
story
of
Meg
Speedwell,
and
how
she
lived
happily
ever
after.
Nay,
hear
me
out!
The
blood
of
Meg
Speedwell’s
lord
flows
in
my
veins.
I
think
I
may
boast
that
I
have
inherited
something
of
his
sagacity.
In
any
case,
I
can
profit
by
his
example.
Do
not
fear
that
I,
if
you
were
to
wed
me,
should
demand
a
metamorphosis
of
your
present
self.
I
should
take
you
as
you
are,
gladly.
I
should
encourage
you
to
be
always
exactly
as
you
are--a
radiant,
irresistible
member
of
the
upper
middle-class,
with
a
certain
freedom
of
manner
acquired
through
a
life
of
peculiar
liberty.
Can
you
guess
what
would
be
my
principal
wedding-gift
to
you?
Meg
Speedwell
had
her
dairy.
For
you,
would
be
built
another
outhouse--a
neat
hall
wherein
you
would
perform
your
conjuring-tricks,
every
evening
except
Sunday,
before
me
and
my
tenants
and
my
servants,
and
before
such
of
my
neighbours
as
might
care
to
come.
None
would
respect
you
the
less,
seeing
that
I
approved.
Thus
in
you
would
the
pleasant
history
of
Meg
Speedwell
repeat
itself.
You,
practising
for
your
pleasure--nay,
hear
me
out!--that
sweet
and
lowly
handicraft
which--”
“I
won’t
listen
to
another
word!”
cried
Zuleika.
“You
are
the
most
insolent
person
I
have
ever
met.
I
happen
to
come
of
a
particularly
good
family.
I
move
in
the
best
society.
My
manners
are
absolutely
perfect.
If
I
found
myself
in
the
shoes
of
twenty
Duchesses
simultaneously,
I
should
know
quite
well
how
to
behave.
As
for
the
one
pair
you
can
offer
me,
I
kick
them
away--so.
I
kick
them
back
at
you.
I
tell
you--”
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