Zuleika Dobson; Or, An Oxford Love Story

The genial din was wafted down through the open window to the passers-by. The wine-merchant across the way heard it, and smiled pensively. “Youth, youth!” he murmured. The genial din grew louder. At any other time, the Duke would have been jarred by the disgrace to the Junta. But now, as he stood with bent head, covering his face with his hands, he thought only of the need to rid these young men, here and now, of the influence that had befallen them. To-morrow his tragic example might be too late, the mischief have sunk too deep, the agony be life-long. His good breeding forbade him to cast over a dinner-table the shadow of his death. His conscience insisted that he must. He uncovered his face, and held up one hand for silence.