CHAPTER XIX.

meacrossagain,acadencefromapieceofmusicthatyouhadceasedtoplay—Itellyou,Dorian,thatitisonthingslikethesethatourlivesdepend.Browningwritesaboutthatsomewherebutourownsenseswillimaginethemforus.Therearemomentswhentheodouroflilasblancpassessuddenlyacrossme,andIhavetolivethestrangestmonthofmylifeoveragain.IwishIcouldchangeplaceswithyou,Dorian.Theworldhascriedoutagainstusboth,butithasalwaysworshippedyou.Italwayswillworshipyou.Youarethetypeofwhattheageissearchingfor,andwhatitisafraidithasfound.Iamsogladthatyouhaveneverdoneanything,nevercarvedastatue,orpaintedapicture,orproducedanythingoutsideofyourself!Lifehasbeenyourart.Youhavesetyourselftomusic.Yourdaysareyoursonnets.” Dorianroseupfromthepianoandpassedhishandthroughhishair.“Yes,lifehasbeenexquisite,”hemurmured,“butIamnotgoingtohavethesamelife,Harry.Andyoumustnotsaytheseextravagantthingstome.Youdon’tknoweverythingaboutme.Ithinkthatifyoudid,evenyouwouldturnfromme.Youlaugh.Don’tlaugh.” “Whyhaveyoustoppedplaying,Dorian?Gobackandgivemethenocturneoveragain.Lookatthatgreat,honey-colouredmoonthathangsintheduskyair.Sheiswaitingforyoutocharmher,andifyouplayshewillcomeclosertotheearth.Youwon’t?Letusgototheclub,then.Ithasbeenacharmingevening,andwemustenditcharmingly.ThereissomeoneatWhite’swhowantsimmenselytoknowyou—youngLordPoole,Bournemouth’seldestson.Hehasalreadycopiedyourneckties,andhasbeggedmetointroducehimtoyou.Heisquitedelightfulandratherremindsmeofyou.” “Ihopenot,”saidDorianwithasadlookinhiseyes.“ButIamtiredto-night,Harry.Ishan’tgototheclub.Itisnearlyeleven,andIwanttogotobedearly.” “Dostay.Youhaveneverplayedsowellasto-night.Therewassomethinginyourtouchthatwaswonderful.IthadmoreexpressionthanIhadeverheardfromitbefore.” “ItisbecauseIamgoingtobegood,”heanswered,smiling.“Iamalittlechangedalready.” “Youcannotchangetome,Dorian,”saidLordHenry.“YouandIwillalwaysbefriends.” “Yetyoupoisonedmewithabookonce.Ishouldnotforgivethat.Harry,promisemethatyouwillneverlendthatbooktoanyone.Itdoesharm.” “Mydearboy,youarereallybeginningtomoralize.Youwillsoonbegoingaboutliketheconverted,andtherevivalist,warningpeopleagainstallthesinsofwhichyouhavegrowntired.Youaremuchtoodelightfultodothat.Besides,itisnouse.YouandIarewhatweare,andwillbewhatwewillbe.Asforbeingpoisonedbyabook,thereisnosuchthingasthat.Arthasnoinfluenceuponaction.Itannihilatesthedesiretoact.Itissuperblysterile.Thebooksthattheworldcallsimmoralarebooksthatshowtheworlditsownshame.Thatisall.Butwewon’tdiscussliterature.Comeroundto-morrow.Iamgoingtorideateleven.Wemightgotogether,andIwilltakeyoutolunchafterwardswithLadyBranksome.Sheisacharmingwoman,andwantstoconsultyouaboutsometapestriessheisthinkingofbuying.Mindyoucome.Orshallwelunchwithourlittleduchess?Shesayssheneverseesyounow.PerhapsyouaretiredofGladys?Ithoughtyouwouldbe.Herclevertonguegetsonone’snerves.Well,inanycase,behereateleven.” “MustIreallycome,Harry?” “Certainly.Theparkisquitelovelynow.Idon’tthinktherehavebeensuchlilacssincetheyearImetyou.” “Verywell.Ishallbehereateleven,”saidDorian.“Goodnight,Harry.”Ashereachedthedoor,hehesitatedforamoment,asifhehadsomethingmoretosay.Thenhesighedandwentout.