CHAPTER III.

asubtlefluidorastrangeperfume:therewasarealjoyinthat—perhapsthemostsatisfyingjoylefttousinanagesolimitedandvulgarasourown,anagegrosslycarnalinitspleasures,andgrosslycommoninitsaims....Hewasamarvelloustype,too,thislad,whombysocuriousachancehehadmetinBasil’sstudio,orcouldbefashionedintoamarvelloustype,atanyrate.Gracewashis,andthewhitepurityofboyhood,andbeautysuchasoldGreekmarbleskeptforus.Therewasnothingthatonecouldnotdowithhim.HecouldbemadeaTitanoratoy.Whatapityitwasthatsuchbeautywasdestinedtofade!...AndBasil?Fromapsychologicalpointofview,howinterestinghewas!Thenewmannerinart,thefreshmodeoflookingatlife,suggestedsostrangelybythemerelyvisiblepresenceofonewhowasunconsciousofitallthesilentspiritthatdweltindimwoodland,andwalkedunseeninopenfield,suddenlyshowingherself,Dryadlikeandnotafraid,becauseinhissoulwhosoughtforhertherehadbeenwakenedthatwonderfulvisiontowhichalonearewonderfulthingsrevealedthemereshapesandpatternsofthingsbecoming,asitwere,refined,andgainingakindofsymbolicalvalue,asthoughtheywerethemselvespatternsofsomeotherandmoreperfectformwhoseshadowtheymadereal:howstrangeitallwas!Herememberedsomethinglikeitinhistory.WasitnotPlato,thatartistinthought,whohadfirstanalyzedit?WasitnotBuonarottiwhohadcarveditinthecolouredmarblesofasonnet-sequence?Butinourowncenturyitwasstrange....YeshewouldtrytobetoDorianGraywhat,withoutknowingit,theladwastothepainterwhohadfashionedthewonderfulportrait.Hewouldseektodominatehim—hadalready,indeed,halfdoneso.Hewouldmakethatwonderfulspirithisown.Therewassomethingfascinatinginthissonofloveanddeath. Suddenlyhestoppedandglancedupatthehouses.Hefoundthathehadpassedhisaunt’ssomedistance,and,smilingtohimself,turnedback.Whenheenteredthesomewhatsombrehall,thebutlertoldhimthattheyhadgoneintolunch.Hegaveoneofthefootmenhishatandstickandpassedintothedining-room. “Lateasusual,Harry,”criedhisaunt,shakingherheadathim. Heinventedafacileexcuse,andhavingtakenthevacantseatnexttoher,lookedroundtoseewhowasthere.Dorianbowedtohimshylyfromtheendofthetable,aflushofpleasurestealingintohischeek.OppositewastheDuchessofHarley,aladyofadmirablegood-natureandgoodtemper,muchlikedbyeveryonewhoknewher,andofthoseamplearchitecturalproportionsthatinwomenwhoarenotduchessesaredescribedbycontemporaryhistoriansasstoutness.Nexttohersat,onherright,SirThomasBurdon,aRadicalmemberofParliament,whofollowedhisleaderinpubliclifeandinprivatelifefollowedthebestcooks,diningwiththeToriesandthinkingwiththeLiberals,inaccordancewithawiseandwell-knownrule.ThepostonherleftwasoccupiedbyMr.ErskineofTreadley,anoldgentlemanofconsiderablecharmandculture,whohadfallen,however,intobadhabitsofsilence,having,asheexplainedoncetoLadyAgatha,saideverythingthathehadtosaybeforehewasthirty.HisownneighbourwasMrs.Vandeleur,oneofhisaunt’soldestfriends,aperfectsaintamongstwomen,butsodreadfullydowdythatsheremindedoneofabadlyboundhymn-book.FortunatelyforhimshehadontheothersideLordFaudel,amostintelligentmiddle-agedmediocrity,asbaldasaministerialstatementintheHouseofCommons,withwhomshewasconversinginthatintenselyearnestmannerwhichistheoneunpardonableerror,asheremarkedoncehimself,thatallreallygoodpeoplefallinto,andfromwhichnoneofthemeverquiteescape. “WearetalkingaboutpoorDartmoor,LordHenry,”criedtheduchess,noddingpleasantlytohimacrossthetable.“Doyouthinkhewillreallymarrythisfascinatingyoungperson?” “Ibelieveshehasmadeuphermindtoproposetohim,Duchess.” “Howdreadful!”exclaimedLadyAgatha.“Really,someoneshouldinterfere.” “Iamtold,onexcellentauthority,thatherfatherkeepsanAmericandry-goodsstore,”saidSirThomasBurdon,lookingsupercilious. “Myunclehasalreadysuggestedpork-packing,SirThomas.” “Dry-goods!WhatareAmericandry-goods?”askedtheduchess,raisingherlargehandsinwonderandaccentuatingtheverb. “Americannovels,”answeredLordHenry,helpinghimselftosomequail. Theduchesslookedpuzzled. “Don’tmindhim,mydear,”whisperedLadyAgatha.“Henevermeansanythingthathesays.” “WhenAmericawasdiscovered,”saidtheRadicalmember—andhebegantogivesomewearisomefacts.Likeallpeoplewhotrytoexhaustasubject,heexhaustedhislisteners.Theduchesssighedandexercisedherprivilegeofinterruption.“Iwishtogoodnessitnever