Zuleika Dobson; Or, An Oxford Love Story

“Rather.” “You are truly happy in that prospect?” “Yes. Rather.” “Now, suppose I showed you two pieces of equally fine amber--a big one and a little one. Which of these would you rather possess?” “The big one, I suppose.” “And this because it is better to have more than to have less of a good thing?” “Just so.” “Do you consider happiness a good thing or a bad one?” “A good one.” “So that a man would rather have more than less of happiness?” “Undoubtedly.” “Then does it not seem to you that you would do well to postpone your suicide indefinitely?” “But I have just said I can’t live without her.” “You have still more recently declared yourself truly happy.” “Yes, but--” “Now, be careful, Mr. Smith. Remember, this is a matter of life and death. Try to do yourself justice. I have asked you--” But the undergraduate was walking away, not without a certain dignity. The Duke felt that he had not handled his man skilfully. He remembered that even Socrates, for all the popular charm of his mock-modesty and his true geniality, had ceased after a while to be tolerable. Without such a manner to grace his method, Socrates would have had a very brief time indeed. The Duke recoiled from what he took to be another pitfall. He almost smelt hemlock. A party of four undergraduates abreast was approaching. How should he address them? His choice wavered between the evangelic wistfulness of “Are you saved?” and the breeziness of the recruiting sergeant’s “Come, you’re fine upstanding young fellows. Isn’t it a pity,” etc. Meanwhile, the quartet had passed by.