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Zuleika Dobson; Or, An Oxford Love Story
·
Sir Max Beerbohm
95
“Come!”
said
the
Duke
at
length,
staring
around
him
with
the
eyes
of
one
awakened
from
a
dream.
“Come!
I
must
take
you
back
to
Judas.”
“But
you
won’t
leave
me
there?”
pleaded
Zuleika.
“You
will
stay
to
dinner?
I
am
sure
my
grandfather
would
be
delighted.”
“I
am
sure
he
would,”
said
the
Duke,
as
he
piloted
her
down
the
steps
of
the
barge.
“But
alas,
I
have
to
dine
at
the
Junta
to-night.”
“The
Junta?
What
is
that?”
“A
little
dining-club.
It
meets
every
Tuesday.”
“But--you
don’t
mean
you
are
going
to
refuse
me
for
that?”
“To
do
so
is
misery.
But
I
have
no
choice.
I
have
asked
a
guest.”
“Then
ask
another:
ask
me!”
Zuleika’s
notions
of
Oxford
life
were
rather
hazy.
It
was
with
difficulty
that
the
Duke
made
her
realise
that
he
could
not--not
even
if,
as
she
suggested,
she
dressed
herself
up
as
a
man--invite
her
to
the
Junta.
She
then
fell
back
on
the
impossibility
that
he
would
not
dine
with
her
to-night,
his
last
night
in
this
world.
She
could
not
understand
that
admirable
fidelity
to
social
engagements
which
is
one
of
the
virtues
implanted
in
the
members
of
our
aristocracy.
Bohemian
by
training
and
by
career,
she
construed
the
Duke’s
refusal
as
either
a
cruel
slight
to
herself
or
an
act
of
imbecility.
The
thought
of
being
parted
from
her
for
one
moment
was
torture
to
him;
but
“noblesse
oblige,”
and
it
was
quite
impossible
for
him
to
break
an
engagement
merely
because
a
more
charming
one
offered
itself:
he
would
as
soon
have
cheated
at
cards.
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