Zuleika Dobson; Or, An Oxford Love Story

The Duke was so rapt in his private thoughts that he was hardly conscious of the strange scene. And as for Zuleika, she, as well she might be, was in the very best of good humours. “What a lot of house-boats!” she exclaimed. “Are you going to take me on to one of them?” The Duke started. Already they were alongside the Judas barge. “Here,” he said, “is our goal.” He stepped through the gate of the railings, out upon the plank, and offered her his hand. She looked back. The young men in the vanguard were crushing their shoulders against the row behind them, to stay the oncoming host. She had half a mind to go back through the midst of them; but she really did want her tea, and she followed the Duke on to the barge, and under his auspices climbed the steps to the roof. It looked very cool and gay, this roof, under its awning of red and white stripes. Nests of red and white flowers depended along either side of it. Zuleika moved to the side which commanded a view of the bank. She leaned her arms on the balustrade, and gazed down. The crowd stretched as far as she could see--a vista of faces upturned to her. Suddenly it hove forward. Its vanguard was swept irresistibly past the barge--swept by the desire of the rest to see her at closer quarters. Such was the impetus that the vision for each man was but a lightning-flash: he was whirled past, struggling, almost before his brain took the message of his eyes.