Zuleika Dobson; Or, An Oxford Love Story

“No,” she said in a whisper; “I never dared to hope that.” “Precisely,” said he. “You never imagined that you had anything to gain by your affection. You were not contriving a trap for me. You were upheld by no hope of becoming a young Duchess, with more frocks than you could wear and more dross than you could scatter. I am glad. I am touched. You are the first woman that has loved me in that way. Or rather,” he muttered, “the first but one. And she... Answer me,” he said, standing over the girl, and speaking with a great intensity. “If I were to tell you that I loved you, would you cease to love me?” “Oh your Grace!” cried the girl. “Why no! I never dared--” “Enough!” he said. “The catechism is ended. I have something which I should like to give you. Are your ears pierced?” “Yes, your Grace.” “Then, Katie, honour me by accepting this present.” So saying, he placed in the girl’s hand the black pearl and the pink. The sight of them banished for a moment all other emotions in their recipient. She forgot herself. “Lor!” she said. “I hope you will wear them always for my sake,” said the Duke. She had expressed herself in the monosyllable. No words came to her lips, but to her eyes many tears, through which the pearls were visible. They whirled in her bewildered brain as a token that she was loved--loved by HIM, though but yesterday he had loved another. It was all so sudden, so beautiful. You might have knocked her down (she says so to this day) with a feather. Seeing her agitation, the Duke pointed to a chair, bade her be seated.