CHAPTER IX.

Ashewassittingatbreakfastnextmorning,BasilHallwardwasshownintotheroom. “IamsogladIhavefoundyou,Dorian,”hesaidgravely.“Icalledlastnight,andtheytoldmeyouwereattheopera.Ofcourse,Iknewthatwasimpossible.ButIwishyouhadleftwordwhereyouhadreallygoneto.Ipassedadreadfulevening,halfafraidthatonetragedymightbefollowedbyanother.Ithinkyoumighthavetelegraphedformewhenyouheardofitfirst.IreadofitquitebychanceinalateeditionofTheGlobethatIpickedupattheclub.Icamehereatonceandwasmiserableatnotfindingyou.Ican’ttellyouhowheart-brokenIamaboutthewholething.Iknowwhatyoumustsuffer.Butwherewereyou?Didyougodownandseethegirl’smother?ForamomentIthoughtoffollowingyouthere.Theygavetheaddressinthepaper.SomewhereintheEustonRoad,isn’tit?ButIwasafraidofintrudinguponasorrowthatIcouldnotlighten.Poorwoman!Whatastateshemustbein!Andheronlychild,too!Whatdidshesayaboutitall?” “MydearBasil,howdoIknow?”murmuredDorianGray,sippingsomepale-yellowwinefromadelicate,gold-beadedbubbleofVenetianglassandlookingdreadfullybored.“Iwasattheopera.Youshouldhavecomeonthere.ImetLadyGwendolen,Harry’ssister,forthefirsttime.Wewereinherbox.SheisperfectlycharmingandPattisangdivinely.Don’ttalkabouthorridsubjects.Ifonedoesn’ttalkaboutathing,ithasneverhappened.Itissimplyexpression,asHarrysays,thatgivesrealitytothings.Imaymentionthatshewasnotthewoman’sonlychild.Thereisason,acharmingfellow,Ibelieve.Butheisnotonthestage.Heisasailor,orsomething.Andnow,tellmeaboutyourselfandwhatyouarepainting.” “Youwenttotheopera?”saidHallward,speakingveryslowlyandwithastrainedtouchofpaininhisvoice.“YouwenttotheoperawhileSibylVanewaslyingdeadinsomesordidlodging?Youcantalktomeofotherwomenbeingcharming,andofPattisingingdivinely,beforethegirlyoulovedhaseventhequietofagravetosleepin?Why,man,therearehorrorsinstoreforthatlittlewhitebodyofhers!” “Stop,Basil!Iwon’thearit!”criedDorian,leapingtohisfeet.“Youmustnottellmeaboutthings.Whatisdoneisdone.Whatispastispast.” “Youcallyesterdaythepast?” “Whathastheactuallapseoftimegottodowithit?Itisonlyshallowpeoplewhorequireyearstogetridofanemotion.Amanwhoismasterofhimselfcanendasorrowaseasilyashecaninventapleasure.Idon’twanttobeatthemercyofmyemotions.Iwanttousethem,toenjoythem,andtodominatethem.” “Dorian,thisishorrible!Somethinghaschangedyoucompletely.Youlookexactlythesamewonderfulboywho,dayafterday,usedtocomedowntomystudiotositforhispicture.Butyouweresimple,natural,andaffectionatethen.Youwerethemostunspoiledcreatureinthewholeworld.Now,Idon’tknowwhathascomeoveryou.Youtalkasifyouhadnoheart,nopityinyou.ItisallHarry’sinfluence.Iseethat.” Theladflushedupand,goingtothewindow,lookedoutforafewmomentsonthegreen,flickering,sun-lashedgarden.“IoweagreatdealtoHarry,Basil,”hesaidatlast,“morethanIowetoyou.Youonlytaughtmetobevain.” “Well,Iampunishedforthat,Dorian—orshallbesomeday.” “Idon’tknowwhatyoumean,Basil,”heexclaimed,turninground.“Idon’tknowwhatyouwant.Whatdoyouwant?” “IwanttheDorianGrayIusedtopaint,”saidtheartistsadly. “Basil,”saidthelad,goingovertohimandputtinghishandonhisshoulder,“youhavecometoolate.Yesterday,whenIheardthatSibylVanehadkilledherself—” “Killedherself!Goodheavens!istherenodoubtaboutthat?”criedHallward,lookingupathimwithanexpressionofhorror. “MydearBasil!Surelyyoudon’tthinkitwasavulgaraccident?Ofcourseshekilledherself.” Theeldermanburiedhisfaceinhishands.“Howfearful,”hemuttered,andashudderranthroughhim. “No,”