Zuleika Dobson; Or, An Oxford Love Story

As she sat here in the bay-window of her room, she was not reviewing the splendid pageant of her past. She was a young person whose reveries never were in retrospect. For her the past was no treasury of distinct memories, all hoarded and classified, some brighter than others and more highly valued. All memories were for her but as the motes in one fused radiance that followed her and made more luminous the pathway of her future. She was always looking forward. She was looking forward now--that shade of ennui had passed from her face--to the week she was to spend in Oxford. A new city was a new toy to her, and--for it was youth’s homage that she loved best--this city of youths was a toy after her own heart.