CHAPTER II.

“Istayedwhenyouaskedme,”wasLordHenry’sanswer. “Harry,Ican’tquarrelwithmytwobestfriendsatonce,butbetweenyoubothyouhavemademehatethefinestpieceofworkIhaveeverdone,andIwilldestroyit.Whatisitbutcanvasandcolour?Iwillnotletitcomeacrossourthreelivesandmarthem.” DorianGrayliftedhisgoldenheadfromthepillow,andwithpallidfaceandtear-stainedeyes,lookedathimashewalkedovertothedealpainting-tablethatwassetbeneaththehighcurtainedwindow.Whatwashedoingthere?Hisfingerswerestrayingaboutamongthelitteroftintubesanddrybrushes,seekingforsomething.Yes,itwasforthelongpalette-knife,withitsthinbladeoflithesteel.Hehadfounditatlast.Hewasgoingtoripupthecanvas. Withastifledsobtheladleapedfromthecouch,and,rushingovertoHallward,toretheknifeoutofhishand,andflungittotheendofthestudio.“Don’t,Basil,don’t!”hecried.“Itwouldbemurder!” “Iamgladyouappreciatemyworkatlast,Dorian,”saidthepaintercoldlywhenhehadrecoveredfromhissurprise.“Ineverthoughtyouwould.” “Appreciateit?Iaminlovewithit,Basil.Itispartofmyself.Ifeelthat.” “Well,assoonasyouaredry,youshallbevarnished,andframed,andsenthome.Thenyoucandowhatyoulikewithyourself.”Andhewalkedacrosstheroomandrangthebellfortea.“Youwillhavetea,ofcourse,Dorian?Andsowillyou,Harry?Ordoyouobjecttosuchsimplepleasures?” “Iadoresimplepleasures,”saidLordHenry.“Theyarethelastrefugeofthecomplex.ButIdon’tlikescenes,exceptonthestage.Whatabsurdfellowsyouare,bothofyou!Iwonderwhoitwasdefinedmanasarationalanimal.Itwasthemostprematuredefinitionevergiven.Manismanythings,butheisnotrational.Iamgladheisnot,afterall—thoughIwishyouchapswouldnotsquabbleoverthepicture.Youhadmuchbetterletmehaveit,Basil.Thissillyboydoesn’treallywantit,andIreallydo.” “Ifyouletanyonehaveitbutme,Basil,Ishallneverforgiveyou!”criedDorianGray“andIdon’tallowpeopletocallmeasillyboy.” “Youknowthepictureisyours,Dorian.Igaveittoyoubeforeitexisted.” “Andyouknowyouhavebeenalittlesilly,Mr.Gray,andthatyoudon’treallyobjecttobeingremindedthatyouareextremelyyoung.” “Ishouldhaveobjectedverystronglythismorning,LordHenry.” “Ah!thismorning!Youhavelivedsincethen.” Therecameaknockatthedoor,andthebutlerenteredwithaladentea-trayandsetitdownuponasmallJapanesetable.TherewasarattleofcupsandsaucersandthehissingofaflutedGeorgianurn.Twoglobe-shapedchinadisheswerebroughtinbyapage.DorianGraywentoverandpouredoutthetea.Thetwomensaunteredlanguidlytothetableandexaminedwhatwasunderthecovers. “Letusgotothetheatreto-night,”saidLordHenry.“Thereissuretobesomethingon,somewhere.IhavepromisedtodineatWhite’s,butitisonlywithanoldfriend,soIcansendhimawiretosaythatIamill,orthatIampreventedfromcominginconsequenceofasubsequentengagement.Ithinkthatwouldbearatherniceexcuse:itwouldhaveallthesurpriseofcandour.” “Itissuchaboreputtingonone’sdress-clothes,”mutteredHallward.“And,whenonehasthemon,theyaresohorrid.” “Yes,”answeredLordHenrydreamily,“thecostumeofthenineteenthcenturyisdetestable.Itissosombre,sodepressing.Sinistheonlyrealcolour-elementleftinmodernlife.” “YoureallymustnotsaythingslikethatbeforeDorian,Harry.” “BeforewhichDorian?Theonewhoispouringoutteaforus,ortheoneinthepicture?” “Beforeeither.” “Ishouldliketocometothetheatrewithyou,LordHenry,”saidthelad. “Thenyoushallcomeandyouwillcome,too,Basil,won’tyou?” “Ican’t,really.Iwouldsoonernot.Ihavealotofworktodo.” “Well,then,youandIwillgoalone,Mr.Gray.” “Ishouldlikethatawfully.” Thepainterbithislipandwalkedover,cupinhand,tothepicture.“IshallstaywiththerealDorian,”hesaid,sadly. “IsittherealDorian?”criedtheoriginaloftheportrait,strollingacrosstohim.“AmIreallylikethat?” “Yesyouarejustlikethat.” “Howwonderful,Basil!” “Atleastyouarelikeitinappearance.Butitwillneveralter,”sighedHallward.“Thatissomething.” “Whatafusspeoplemakeaboutfidelity!”exclaimedLordHenry.“Why,eveninloveitispurelyaquestionforphysiology.Ithasnothingtodowithourownwill.Youngmenwanttobefaithful,andarenotoldmenwanttobefaithless,andcannot:thatisallonecansay.” “Don’tgotothetheatreto-night,Dorian,”saidHallward.“Stopanddinewithme.” “Ican’t,Basil.” “Why?” “BecauseIhavepromisedLordHenryWottontogowithhim.” “Hewon’tlikeyouthebetterforkeepingyourpromises.Healwaysbreakshisown.Ibegyounottogo.” DorianGraylaughedandshookhishead. “Ientreatyou.” Theladhesitated,andlookedoveratLordHenry,whowaswatchingthemfromthetea-tablewithanamusedsmile. “Imustgo,Basil,”heanswered. “Verywell,”saidHallward,andhewentoverandlaiddownhiscuponthetray.“Itisratherlate,and,asyouhavetodress,youhadbetterlosenotime.Good-bye,Harry.Good-bye,Dorian.Comeandseemesoon.Cometo-morrow.” “Certainly.” “Youwon’tforget?” “No,ofcoursenot,”criedDorian. “And...Harry!” “Yes,Basil?” “RememberwhatIaskedyou,whenwewereinthegardenthismorning.” “Ihaveforgottenit.” “Itrustyou.” “IwishIcouldtrustmyself,”saidLordHenry,laughing.“Come,Mr.Gray,myhansomisoutside,andIcandropyouatyourownplace.Good-bye,Basil.Ithasbeenamostinterestingafternoon.” Asthedoorclosedbehindthem,thepainterflunghimselfdownonasofa,andalookofpaincameintohisface.