Zuleika Dobson; Or, An Oxford Love Story

“I am glad to hear of these accomplishments. They do you great credit, I am sure. But--well, I do not quite see why you enumerate them just now.” “It isn’t that I am vain,” she pleaded. “I only mentioned them because ... oh, don’t you see? If I’m not ignorant, I shan’t disgrace you. People won’t be so able to say you’ve been and thrown yourself away.” “Thrown myself away? What do you mean?” “Oh, they’ll make all sorts of objections, I know. They’ll all be against me, and--” “For heaven’s sake, explain yourself.” “Your aunt, she looked a very proud lady--very high and hard. I thought so when she came here last term. But you’re of age. You’re your own master. Oh, I trust you; you’ll stand by me. If you love me really you won’t listen to them.” “Love you? I? Are you mad?” Each stared at the other, utterly bewildered. The girl was the first to break the silence. Her voice came in a whisper. “You’ve not been playing a joke on me? You meant what you said, didn’t you?” “What have I said?” “You said you loved me.” “You must be dreaming.” “I’m not. Here are the ear-rings you gave me.” She pinched them as material proof. “You said you loved me just before you gave me them. You know you did. And if I thought you’d been laughing at me all the time--I’d--I’d”--a sob choked her voice--“I’d throw them in your face!” “You must not speak to me in that manner,” said the Duke coldly. “And let me warn you that this attempt to trap me and intimidate me--”