Zuleika Dobson; Or, An Oxford Love Story

“You want to read NOW--TO-NIGHT?” “I must put in a good two hours. Where are the books that were on my table?” Reverently--he was indeed a king of men--she took the books down from the shelf, and placed them where she had found them. And she knew not which thrilled her the more--the kiss he gave her at parting, or the tone in which he told her that the one thing he could not and would not stand was having his books disturbed. Still less than before attuned to the lugubrious session downstairs, she went straight up to her attic, and did a little dance there in the dark. She threw open the lattice of the dormer-window, and leaned out, smiling, throbbing. The Emperors, gazing up, saw her happy, and wondered; saw Noaks’ ring on her finger, and would fain have shaken their grey heads. Presently she was aware of a protrusion from the window beneath hers. The head of her beloved! Fondly she watched it, wished she could reach down to stroke it. She loved him for having, after all, left his books. It was sweet to be his excuse. Should she call softly to him? No, it might shame him to be caught truant. He had already chidden her for prying. So she did but gaze down on his head silently, wondering whether in eighteen years it would be bald, wondering whether her own hair would still have the fault of being golden. Most of all, she wondered whether he loved her half so much as she loved him.