CHAPTER VII.

Thegirlsmiled.“Dorian,”sheanswered,lingeringoverhisnamewithlong-drawnmusicinhervoice,asthoughitweresweeterthanhoneytotheredpetalsofhermouth.“Dorian,youshouldhaveunderstood.Butyouunderstandnow,don’tyou?” “Understandwhat?”heasked,angrily. “WhyIwassobadto-night.WhyIshallalwaysbebad.WhyIshallneveractwellagain.” Heshruggedhisshoulders.“Youareill,Isuppose.Whenyouareillyoushouldn’tact.Youmakeyourselfridiculous.Myfriendswerebored.Iwasbored.” Sheseemednottolistentohim.Shewastransfiguredwithjoy.Anecstasyofhappinessdominatedher. “Dorian,Dorian,”shecried,“beforeIknewyou,actingwastheonerealityofmylife.ItwasonlyinthetheatrethatIlived.Ithoughtthatitwasalltrue.IwasRosalindonenightandPortiatheother.ThejoyofBeatricewasmyjoy,andthesorrowsofCordeliawereminealso.Ibelievedineverything.Thecommonpeoplewhoactedwithmeseemedtometobegodlike.Thepaintedscenesweremyworld.Iknewnothingbutshadows,andIthoughtthemreal.Youcame—oh,mybeautifullove!—andyoufreedmysoulfromprison.Youtaughtmewhatrealityreallyis.To-night,forthefirsttimeinmylife,Isawthroughthehollowness,thesham,thesillinessoftheemptypageantinwhichIhadalwaysplayed.To-night,forthefirsttime,IbecameconsciousthattheRomeowashideous,andold,andpainted,thatthemoonlightintheorchardwasfalse,thatthescenerywasvulgar,andthatthewordsIhadtospeakwereunreal,werenotmywords,werenotwhatIwantedtosay.Youhadbroughtmesomethinghigher,somethingofwhichallartisbutareflection.Youhadmademeunderstandwhatlovereallyis.Mylove!Mylove!PrinceCharming!Princeoflife!Ihavegrownsickofshadows.Youaremoretomethanallartcaneverbe.WhathaveItodowiththepuppetsofaplay?WhenIcameonto-night,Icouldnotunderstandhowitwasthateverythinghadgonefromme.IthoughtthatIwasgoingtobewonderful.IfoundthatIcoulddonothing.Suddenlyitdawnedonmysoulwhatitallmeant.Theknowledgewasexquisitetome.Iheardthemhissing,andIsmiled.Whatcouldtheyknowoflovesuchasours?Takemeaway,Dorian—takemeawaywithyou,wherewecanbequitealone.Ihatethestage.ImightmimicapassionthatIdonotfeel,butIcannotmimiconethatburnsmelikefire.Oh,Dorian,Dorian,youunderstandnowwhatitsignifies?EvenifIcoulddoit,itwouldbeprofanationformetoplayatbeinginlove.Youhavemademeseethat.” Heflunghimselfdownonthesofaandturnedawayhisface.“Youhavekilledmylove,”hemuttered. Shelookedathiminwonderandlaughed.Hemadenoanswer.Shecameacrosstohim,andwithherlittlefingersstrokedhishair.Shekneltdownandpressedhishandstoherlips.Hedrewthemaway,andashudderranthroughhim. Thenheleapedupandwenttothedoor.“Yes,”hecried,“youhavekilledmylove.Youusedtostirmyimagination.Nowyoudon’tevenstirmycuriosity.Yousimplyproducenoeffect.Ilovedyoubecauseyouweremarvellous,becauseyouhadgeniusandintellect,becauseyourealizedthedreamsofgreatpoetsandgaveshapeandsubstancetotheshadowsofart.Youhavethrownitallaway.Youareshallowandstupid.MyGod!howmadIwastoloveyou!WhatafoolIhavebeen!Youarenothingtomenow.Iwillneverseeyouagain.Iwillneverthinkofyou.Iwillnevermentionyourname.Youdon’tknowwhatyouweretome,once.Why,once...Oh,Ican’tbeartothinkofit!IwishIhadneverlaideyesuponyou!Youhavespoiledtheromanceofmylife.Howlittleyoucanknowoflove,ifyousayitmarsyourart!Withoutyourart,youarenothing.Iwouldhavemadeyoufamous,splendid,magnificent.Theworldwouldhaveworshippedyou,andyouwouldhavebornemyname.Whatareyounow?Athird-rateactresswithaprettyface.” Thegirlgrewwhite,andtrembled.Sheclenchedherhandstogether,andhervoiceseemedtocatchinherthroat.“Youarenotserious,Dorian?”shemurmured.“Youareacting.” “Acting!Ileavethattoyou.Youdoitsowell,”heansweredbitterly. Sherosefromherkneesand,withapiteousexpressionofpaininherface,cameacrosstheroomtohim.Sheputherhanduponhisarmandlookedintohiseyes.Hethrustherback.“Don’ttouchme!”hecried. Alowmoanbrokefromher,andsheflungherselfathisfeetandlaytherelikeatrampledflower.“Dorian,Dorian,don’tleaveme!”shewhispered.“IamsosorryIdidn’tactwell.Iwasthinkingofyouallthetime.ButIwilltry—indeed,Iwilltry.Itcamesosuddenlyacrossme,myloveforyou.IthinkIshouldneverhaveknownitifyouhadnotkissedme—ifwehadnotkissedeachother.Kissmea