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Zuleika Dobson; Or, An Oxford Love Story
·
Sir Max Beerbohm
96
And
so,
as
they
went
side
by
side
up
the
avenue,
in
the
mellow
light
of
the
westering
sun,
preceded
in
their
course,
and
pursued,
and
surrounded,
by
the
mob
of
hoarse
infatuate
youths,
Zuleika’s
face
was
as
that
of
a
little
girl
sulking.
Vainly
the
Duke
reasoned
with
her.
She
could
NOT
see
the
point
of
view.
With
that
sudden
softening
that
comes
to
the
face
of
an
angry
woman
who
has
hit
on
a
good
argument,
she
turned
to
him
and
asked
“How
if
I
hadn’t
saved
your
life
just
now?
Much
you
thought
about
your
guest
when
you
were
going
to
dive
and
die!”
“I
did
not
forget
him,”
answered
the
Duke,
smiling
at
her
casuistry.
“Nor
had
I
any
scruple
in
disappointing
him.
Death
cancels
all
engagements.”
And
Zuleika,
worsted,
resumed
her
sulking.
But
presently,
as
they
neared
Judas,
she
relented.
It
was
paltry
to
be
cross
with
him
who
had
resolved
to
die
for
her
and
was
going
to
die
so
on
the
morrow.
And
after
all,
she
would
see
him
at
the
concert
to-night.
They
would
sit
together.
And
all
to-morrow
they
would
be
together,
till
the
time
came
for
parting.
Hers
was
a
naturally
sunny
disposition.
And
the
evening
was
such
a
lovely
one,
all
bathed
in
gold.
She
was
ashamed
of
her
ill-humour.
“Forgive
me,”
she
said,
touching
his
arm.
“Forgive
me
for
being
horrid.”
And
forgiven
she
promptly
was.
“And
promise
you
will
spend
all
to-morrow
with
me.”
And
of
course
he
promised.
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