She was examining a water-colour on the wall, seemed to be absorbed by
it. He watched her. She was even lovelier than he had remembered; or
rather her loveliness had been, in some subtle way, transmuted.
Something had given to her a graver, nobler beauty. Last night's nymph
had become the Madonna of this morning. Despite her dress, which was
of a tremendous tartan, she diffused the pale authentic radiance of a
spirituality most high, most simple. The Duke wondered where lay the
change in her. He could not understand. Suddenly she turned to him,
and he understood. No longer the black pearl and the pink, but two
white pearls! . . . He thrilled to his heart's core.

"I hope," said Zuleika, "you aren't awfully vexed with me for coming
like this?"

"Not at all," said the Duke. "I am delighted to see you." How
inadequate the words sounded, how formal and stupid!

"The fact is," she continued, "I don't know a soul in Oxford. And I
thought perhaps you'd give me luncheon, and take me to see the
boat-races. Will you?"

"I shall be charmed," he said, pulling the bell-rope. Poor fool! he
attributed the shade of disappointment on Zuleika's face to the
coldness of his tone. He would dispel that shade. He would avow
himself. He would leave her no longer in this false position. So soon
as he had told them about the meal, he would proclaim his passion.

The bell was answered by the landlady's daughter.

"Miss Dobson will stay to luncheon," said the Duke. The girl withdrew.