CHAPTER XII.

ItwasontheninthofNovember,theeveofhisownthirty-eighthbirthday,asheoftenrememberedafterwards. Hewaswalkinghomeabouteleveno’clockfromLordHenry’s,wherehehadbeendining,andwaswrappedinheavyfurs,asthenightwascoldandfoggy.AtthecornerofGrosvenorSquareandSouthAudleyStreet,amanpassedhiminthemist,walkingveryfastandwiththecollarofhisgreyulsterturnedup.Hehadabaginhishand.Dorianrecognizedhim.ItwasBasilHallward.Astrangesenseoffear,forwhichhecouldnotaccount,cameoverhim.Hemadenosignofrecognitionandwentonquicklyinthedirectionofhisownhouse. ButHallwardhadseenhim.Dorianheardhimfirststoppingonthepavementandthenhurryingafterhim.Inafewmoments,hishandwasonhisarm. “Dorian!Whatanextraordinarypieceofluck!Ihavebeenwaitingforyouinyourlibraryeversincenineo’clock.FinallyItookpityonyourtiredservantandtoldhimtogotobed,asheletmeout.IamofftoParisbythemidnighttrain,andIparticularlywantedtoseeyoubeforeIleft.Ithoughtitwasyou,orratheryourfurcoat,asyoupassedme.ButIwasn’tquitesure.Didn’tyourecognizeme?” “Inthisfog,mydearBasil?Why,Ican’tevenrecognizeGrosvenorSquare.Ibelievemyhouseissomewhereabouthere,butIdon’tfeelatallcertainaboutit.Iamsorryyouaregoingaway,asIhavenotseenyouforages.ButIsupposeyouwillbebacksoon?” “No:IamgoingtobeoutofEnglandforsixmonths.IintendtotakeastudioinParisandshutmyselfuptillIhavefinishedagreatpictureIhaveinmyhead.However,itwasn’taboutmyselfIwantedtotalk.Hereweareatyourdoor.Letmecomeinforamoment.Ihavesomethingtosaytoyou.” “Ishallbecharmed.Butwon’tyoumissyourtrain?”saidDorianGraylanguidlyashepassedupthestepsandopenedthedoorwithhislatch-key. Thelamplightstruggledoutthroughthefog,andHallwardlookedathiswatch.“Ihaveheapsoftime,”heanswered.“Thetraindoesn’tgotilltwelve-fifteen,anditisonlyjusteleven.Infact,Iwasonmywaytotheclubtolookforyou,whenImetyou.Yousee,Ishan’thaveanydelayaboutluggage,asIhavesentonmyheavythings.AllIhavewithmeisinthisbag,andIcaneasilygettoVictoriaintwentyminutes.” Dorianlookedathimandsmiled.“Whatawayforafashionablepaintertotravel!AGladstonebagandanulster!Comein,orthefogwillgetintothehouse.Andmindyoudon’ttalkaboutanythingserious.Nothingisseriousnowadays.Atleastnothingshouldbe.” Hallwardshookhishead,asheentered,andfollowedDorianintothelibrary.Therewasabrightwoodfireblazinginthelargeopenhearth.Thelampswerelit,andanopenDutchsilverspirit-casestood,withsomesiphonsofsoda-waterandlargecut-glasstumblers,onalittlemarquete