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Zuleika Dobson; Or, An Oxford Love Story
·
Sir Max Beerbohm
83
The
Duke
was
so
rapt
in
his
private
thoughts
that
he
was
hardly
conscious
of
the
strange
scene.
And
as
for
Zuleika,
she,
as
well
she
might
be,
was
in
the
very
best
of
good
humours.
“What
a
lot
of
house-boats!”
she
exclaimed.
“Are
you
going
to
take
me
on
to
one
of
them?”
The
Duke
started.
Already
they
were
alongside
the
Judas
barge.
“Here,”
he
said,
“is
our
goal.”
He
stepped
through
the
gate
of
the
railings,
out
upon
the
plank,
and
offered
her
his
hand.
She
looked
back.
The
young
men
in
the
vanguard
were
crushing
their
shoulders
against
the
row
behind
them,
to
stay
the
oncoming
host.
She
had
half
a
mind
to
go
back
through
the
midst
of
them;
but
she
really
did
want
her
tea,
and
she
followed
the
Duke
on
to
the
barge,
and
under
his
auspices
climbed
the
steps
to
the
roof.
It
looked
very
cool
and
gay,
this
roof,
under
its
awning
of
red
and
white
stripes.
Nests
of
red
and
white
flowers
depended
along
either
side
of
it.
Zuleika
moved
to
the
side
which
commanded
a
view
of
the
bank.
She
leaned
her
arms
on
the
balustrade,
and
gazed
down.
The
crowd
stretched
as
far
as
she
could
see--a
vista
of
faces
upturned
to
her.
Suddenly
it
hove
forward.
Its
vanguard
was
swept
irresistibly
past
the
barge--swept
by
the
desire
of
the
rest
to
see
her
at
closer
quarters.
Such
was
the
impetus
that
the
vision
for
each
man
was
but
a
lightning-flash:
he
was
whirled
past,
struggling,
almost
before
his
brain
took
the
message
of
his
eyes.
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