Chapter 6

“I suppose you have heard the news, Basil?” said Lord Henry that evening as Hallward was shown into a little private room at the Bristol where dinner had been laid for three.

“I suppose you’ve heard the news, Basil?” Lord Henry said that evening as Hallward was shown into a small private room at the Bristol. Dinner had been set out there for three.

“No, Harry,” answered the artist, giving his hat and coat to the bowing waiter. “What is it? Nothing about politics, I hope! They don’t interest me. There is hardly a single person in the House of Commons worth painting, though many of them would be the better for a little whitewashing.”

“No, Harry,” the artist replied, handing his hat and coat to the bowing waiter. “What is it? Nothing about politics, I hope! Politics doesn’t interest me. Hardly anyone in the House of Commons is worth painting, though many of them could use a little whitewashing.”

“Dorian Gray is engaged to be married,” said Lord Henry, watching him as he spoke.

“Dorian Gray is engaged,” said Lord Henry, watching him as he spoke.

Hallward started and then frowned. “Dorian engaged to be married!” he cried. “Impossible!”

Hallward jumped, then frowned. “Dorian is engaged to be married!” he cried. “Impossible!”

“It is perfectly true.”

“It is completely true.”

“To whom?”

“Who to?”

“To some little actress or other.”

“To some minor actress or other.”

“I can’t believe it. Dorian is far too sensible.”

“I can’t believe it. Dorian is much too sensible.”

“Dorian is far too wise not to do foolish things now and then, my dear Basil.”

“Dorian is too wise not to do silly things now and then, dear Basil.”

“Marriage is hardly a thing that one can do now and then, Harry.”

“Marriage is hardly something you can do now and then, Harry.”

“Except in America,” rejoined Lord Henry languidly. “But I didn’t say he was married. I said he was engaged to be married. There is a great difference. I have a distinct remembrance of being married, but I have no recollection at all of being engaged. I am inclined to think that I never was engaged.”

“Except in America,” Lord Henry replied lazily. “But I didn’t say he was married. I said he was engaged to be married. There’s a big difference. I clearly remember getting married, but I don’t remember being engaged at all. I’m inclined to think I was never engaged.”

“But think of Dorian’s birth, and position, and wealth. It would be absurd for him to marry so much beneath him.”

“But think of Dorian’s family background, social standing, and wealth. It would be absurd for him to marry someone so far below him in social status.”

“If you want to make him marry this girl, tell him that, Basil. He is sure to do it, then. Whenever a man does a thoroughly stupid thing, it is always from the noblest motives.”

“If you want him to marry this girl, tell him that, Basil. Then he is sure to marry her. Whenever a man does something completely stupid, he always does it for the noblest reasons.”

“I hope the girl is good, Harry. I don’t want to see Dorian tied to some vile creature, who might degrade his nature and ruin his intellect.”

“I hope the girl is good, Harry. I don’t want Dorian tied to some awful woman who might corrupt his character and ruin his mind.”

“Oh, she is better than good—she is beautiful,” murmured Lord Henry, sipping a glass of vermouth and orange-bitters. “Dorian says she is beautiful, and he is not often wrong about things of that kind. Your portrait of him has quickened his appreciation of the personal appearance of other people. It has had that excellent effect, amongst others. We are to see her to-night, if that boy doesn’t forget his appointment.”

“Oh, she is better than good. She is beautiful,” murmured Lord Henry, sipping a glass of vermouth and orange bitters. “Dorian says she is beautiful, and he is not often wrong about such things. Your portrait of him has made him more aware of other people’s appearance. It has had that excellent effect, among others. We are going to see her tonight, if that boy doesn’t forget his appointment.”

“Are you serious?”

“Are you serious?”

“Quite serious, Basil. I should be miserable if I thought I should ever be more serious than I am at the present moment.”

“Quite serious, Basil. I would be miserable if I thought I would ever be more serious than I am right now.”

“But do you approve of it, Harry?” asked the painter, walking up and down the room and biting his lip. “You can’t approve of it, possibly. It is some silly infatuation.”

“But do you approve of it, Harry?” asked the painter. He paced around the room, biting his lip. “You can’t possibly approve of it. It’s some silly infatuation.”

“I never approve, or disapprove, of anything now. It is an absurd attitude to take towards life. We are not sent into the world to air our moral prejudices. I never take any notice of what common people say, and I never interfere with what charming people do. If a personality fascinates me, whatever mode of expression that personality selects is absolutely delightful to me. Dorian Gray falls in love with a beautiful girl who acts Juliet, and proposes to marry her. Why not? If he wedded Messalina, he would be none the less interesting. You know I am not a champion of marriage. The real drawback to marriage is that it makes one unselfish. And unselfish people are colourless. They lack individuality. Still, there are certain temperaments that marriage makes more complex. They retain their egotism, and add to it many other egos. They are forced to have more than one life. They become more highly organized, and to be highly organized is, I should fancy, the object of man’s existence. Besides, every experience is of value, and whatever one may say against marriage, it is certainly an experience. I hope that Dorian Gray will make this girl his wife, passionately adore her for six months, and then suddenly become fascinated by some one else. He would be a wonderful study.”

“I no longer approve or disapprove of anything. That is an absurd way to approach life. We are not sent into the world to broadcast our moral prejudices. I never pay attention to what ordinary people say, and I never interfere with what charming people do. If a personality fascinates me, I find every way that person chooses to express it utterly delightful. Dorian Gray falls in love with a beautiful girl who plays Juliet and asks her to marry him. Why not? Even if he married Messalina, he would be just as interesting. You know I am no champion of marriage. Its real drawback is that it makes people unselfish. And unselfish people are dull. They lack individuality. Still, marriage makes certain kinds of people more complex. They remain self-centered, but add many other selves to their own. They are forced to live more than one life. They become more complex and organized, and I would think that is the purpose of human existence. Besides, every experience has value, and whatever one may say against marriage, it is certainly an experience. I hope Dorian Gray marries this girl, passionately adores her for six months, and then suddenly becomes fascinated by someone else. He would make a wonderful subject for study.”

“You don’t mean a single word of all that, Harry; you know you don’t. If Dorian Gray’s life were spoiled, no one would be sorrier than yourself. You are much better than you pretend to be.”

“You don’t mean a single word of all that, Harry. You know you don’t. If Dorian Gray’s life were ruined, no one would be sorrier than you. You’re much better than you pretend to be.”

Lord Henry laughed. “The reason we all like to think so well of others is that we are all afraid for ourselves. The basis of optimism is sheer terror. We think that we are generous because we credit our neighbour with the possession of those virtues that are likely to be a benefit to us. We praise the banker that we may overdraw our account, and find good qualities in the highwayman in the hope that he may spare our pockets. I mean everything that I have said. I have the greatest contempt for optimism. As for a spoiled life, no life is spoiled but one whose growth is arrested. If you want to mar a nature, you have merely to reform it. As for marriage, of course that would be silly, but there are other and more interesting bonds between men and women. I will certainly encourage them. They have the charm of being fashionable. But here is Dorian himself. He will tell you more than I can.”

Lord Henry laughed. “We all like to think well of others because we are all afraid for ourselves. Optimism is based on sheer terror. We think we are generous because we believe our neighbors have virtues that are likely to benefit us. We praise the banker so that we can overdraw our account. We find good qualities in the highwayman, hoping he might spare our money. I mean everything I have said. I have the greatest contempt for optimism. As for a spoiled life, no life is spoiled unless its growth is stopped. If you want to ruin someone’s nature, you need only reform it. As for marriage, of course that would be silly, but there are other, more interesting bonds between men and women. I will certainly encourage those bonds. They have the charm of being fashionable. But here is Dorian himself. He will tell you more than I can.”

“My dear Harry, my dear Basil, you must both congratulate me!” said the lad, throwing off his evening cape with its satin-lined wings and shaking each of his friends by the hand in turn. “I have never been so happy. Of course, it is sudden—all really delightful things are. And yet it seems to me to be the one thing I have been looking for all my life.” He was flushed with excitement and pleasure, and looked extraordinarily handsome.

“My dear Harry, my dear Basil, you both must congratulate me!” said the young man. He threw off his evening cape, with its satin-lined wings, and shook each friend’s hand in turn. “I have never been so happy. Of course, it’s sudden. All truly wonderful things are. And yet it seems to me that this is the one thing I’ve been looking for all my life.” His face was flushed with excitement and pleasure, and he looked extraordinarily handsome.

“I hope you will always be very happy, Dorian,” said Hallward, “but I don’t quite forgive you for not having let me know of your engagement. You let Harry know.”

“I hope you’ll always be very happy, Dorian,” said Hallward. “But I can’t quite forgive you for not telling me about your engagement. You told Harry.”

“And I don’t forgive you for being late for dinner,” broke in Lord Henry, putting his hand on the lad’s shoulder and smiling as he spoke. “Come, let us sit down and try what the new chef here is like, and then you will tell us how it all came about.”

“And I don’t forgive you for being late for dinner,” Lord Henry interrupted. He put his hand on the young man’s shoulder and smiled. “Come, let’s sit down and see what the new chef here is like. Then you can tell us how it all happened.”

“There is really not much to tell,” cried Dorian as they took their seats at the small round table. “What happened was simply this. After I left you yesterday evening, Harry, I dressed, had some dinner at that little Italian restaurant in Rupert Street you introduced me to, and went down at eight o’clock to the theatre. Sibyl was playing Rosalind. Of course, the scenery was dreadful and the Orlando absurd. But Sibyl! You should have seen her! When she came on in her boy’s clothes, she was perfectly wonderful. She wore a moss-coloured velvet jerkin with cinnamon sleeves, slim, brown, cross-gartered hose, a dainty little green cap with a hawk’s feather caught in a jewel, and a hooded cloak lined with dull red. She had never seemed to me more exquisite. She had all the delicate grace of that Tanagra figurine that you have in your studio, Basil. Her hair clustered round her face like dark leaves round a pale rose. As for her acting—well, you shall see her to-night. She is simply a born artist. I sat in the dingy box absolutely enthralled. I forgot that I was in London and in the nineteenth century. I was away with my love in a forest that no man had ever seen. After the performance was over, I went behind and spoke to her. As we were sitting together, suddenly there came into her eyes a look that I had never seen there before. My lips moved towards hers. We kissed each other. I can’t describe to you what I felt at that moment. It seemed to me that all my life had been narrowed to one perfect point of rose-coloured joy. She trembled all over and shook like a white narcissus. Then she flung herself on her knees and kissed my hands. I feel that I should not tell you all this, but I can’t help it. Of course, our engagement is a dead secret. She has not even told her own mother. I don’t know what my guardians will say. Lord Radley is sure to be furious. I don’t care. I shall be of age in less than a year, and then I can do what I like. I have been right, Basil, haven’t I, to take my love out of poetry and to find my wife in Shakespeare’s plays? Lips that Shakespeare taught to speak have whispered their secret in my ear. I have had the arms of Rosalind around me, and kissed Juliet on the mouth.”

“There’s really not much to tell,” Dorian cried as they sat down at the small round table. “This is what happened. After I left you yesterday evening, Harry, I got dressed and had dinner at that little Italian restaurant on Rupert Street. You were the one who introduced me to it. Then, at eight o’clock, I went to the theater. Sibyl was playing Rosalind. Of course, the scenery was dreadful, and Orlando was absurd. But Sibyl! You should have seen her! When she came onstage in her boy’s clothes, she was absolutely wonderful. She wore a moss-colored velvet jacket with cinnamon-colored sleeves, and slim brown stockings held by crisscrossing garters. She had a dainty little green cap with a hawk’s feather fastened to it by a jewel. Her hooded cloak was lined with dull red. She had never seemed more exquisite to me. She had all the delicate grace of that Tanagra figurine in your studio, Basil. Her hair clustered around her face like dark leaves around a pale rose. And her acting! Well, you’ll see her tonight. She’s simply a born artist. I sat in the dingy theater box, completely captivated. I forgot that I was in London, in the nineteenth century. I was far away with my love, in a forest no one had ever seen. “After the performance, I went backstage and spoke to her. As we sat together, a look suddenly came into her eyes that I had never seen before. My lips moved toward hers. We kissed. I can’t describe what I felt at that moment. It seemed that my whole life had narrowed to one perfect point of rose-colored joy. She trembled all over and shook like a white narcissus. Then she threw herself on her knees and kissed my hands. I feel I shouldn’t tell you all this, but I can’t help it. Of course, our engagement is a complete secret. She hasn’t even told her own mother. I don’t know what my guardians will say. Lord Radley is sure to be furious. I don’t care. I’ll be of age in less than a year, and then I can do as I like. I was right, wasn’t I, Basil, to take my love out of poetry and find my wife in Shakespeare’s plays? Lips that Shakespeare taught to speak have whispered their secret in my ear. I’ve felt Rosalind’s arms around me and kissed Juliet on the mouth.”

“Yes, Dorian, I suppose you were right,” said Hallward slowly.

“Yes, Dorian, I suppose you were right,” Hallward said slowly.

“Have you seen her to-day?” asked Lord Henry.

“Have you seen her today?” asked Lord Henry.

Dorian Gray shook his head. “I left her in the forest of Arden; I shall find her in an orchard in Verona.”

Dorian Gray shook his head. “I left her in the forest of Arden. I’ll find her in an orchard in Verona.”

Lord Henry sipped his champagne in a meditative manner. “At what particular point did you mention the word marriage, Dorian? And what did she say in answer? Perhaps you forgot all about it.”

Lord Henry sipped his champagne thoughtfully. “When exactly did you mention marriage, Dorian? And what did she say in reply? Perhaps you forgot all about it.”

“My dear Harry, I did not treat it as a business transaction, and I did not make any formal proposal. I told her that I loved her, and she said she was not worthy to be my wife. Not worthy! Why, the whole world is nothing to me compared with her.”

“My dear Harry, I didn’t treat it like a business deal, and I didn’t formally propose. I told her I loved her, and she said she wasn’t worthy to be my wife. Not worthy! The whole world means nothing to me compared with her.”

“Women are wonderfully practical,” murmured Lord Henry, “much more practical than we are. In situations of that kind we often forget to say anything about marriage, and they always remind us.”

“Women are wonderfully practical,” Lord Henry murmured. “Much more practical than we are. In situations like that, we often forget to mention marriage, and they always remind us.”

Hallward laid his hand upon his arm. “Don’t, Harry. You have annoyed Dorian. He is not like other men. He would never bring misery upon any one. His nature is too fine for that.”

Hallward placed his hand on his arm. “Don’t, Harry. You’ve upset Dorian. He’s not like other men. He would never make anyone miserable. He’s too kind for that.”

Lord Henry looked across the table. “Dorian is never annoyed with me,” he answered. “I asked the question for the best reason possible, for the only reason, indeed, that excuses one for asking any question—simple curiosity. I have a theory that it is always the women who propose to us, and not we who propose to the women. Except, of course, in middle-class life. But then the middle classes are not modern.”

Lord Henry looked across the table. “Dorian is never annoyed with me,” he replied. “I asked the question for the best possible reason. In fact, it is the only reason that excuses asking any question: simple curiosity. I have a theory that women always propose to us, not the other way around. Except, of course, in middle-class life. But the middle classes are not modern.”

Dorian Gray laughed, and tossed his head. “You are quite incorrigible, Harry; but I don’t mind. It is impossible to be angry with you. When you see Sibyl Vane, you will feel that the man who could wrong her would be a beast, a beast without a heart. I cannot understand how any one can wish to shame the thing he loves. I love Sibyl Vane. I want to place her on a pedestal of gold and to see the world worship the woman who is mine. What is marriage? An irrevocable vow. You mock at it for that. Ah! don’t mock. It is an irrevocable vow that I want to take. Her trust makes me faithful, her belief makes me good. When I am with her, I regret all that you have taught me. I become different from what you have known me to be. I am changed, and the mere touch of Sibyl Vane’s hand makes me forget you and all your wrong, fascinating, poisonous, delightful theories.”

Dorian Gray laughed and tossed his head. “You’ll never change, Harry, but I don’t mind. It’s impossible to be angry with you. When you see Sibyl Vane, you’ll know that any man who could hurt her would be a beast. A beast without a heart. I can’t understand how anyone could want to shame the person they love. I love Sibyl Vane. I want to put her on a golden pedestal and see the world worship the woman who is mine. What is marriage? A vow you can never take back. You mock marriage for that. Oh, don’t mock it. A vow I can never take back is exactly what I want to make. Her trust makes me faithful, and her belief in me makes me good. When I’m with her, I regret everything you’ve taught me. I become different from the person you’ve known. I’m changed, and just the touch of Sibyl Vane’s hand makes me forget you and all your wrong, fascinating, poisonous, delightful theories.”

“And those are ...?” asked Lord Henry, helping himself to some salad.

“And those are ...?” Lord Henry asked, serving himself some salad.

“Oh, your theories about life, your theories about love, your theories about pleasure. All your theories, in fact, Harry.”

“Oh, your ideas about life, your ideas about love, your ideas about pleasure. All your ideas, really, Harry.”

“Pleasure is the only thing worth having a theory about,” he answered in his slow melodious voice. “But I am afraid I cannot claim my theory as my own. It belongs to Nature, not to me. Pleasure is Nature’s test, her sign of approval. When we are happy, we are always good, but when we are good, we are not always happy.”

“Pleasure is the only thing worth having a theory about,” he answered in his slow, musical voice. “But I’m afraid I can’t claim the theory as my own. It belongs to Nature, not to me. Pleasure is Nature’s test, her sign of approval. When we are happy, we are always good, but when we are good, we are not always happy.”

“Ah! but what do you mean by good?” cried Basil Hallward.

“Oh, but what do you mean by good?” exclaimed Basil Hallward.

“Yes,” echoed Dorian, leaning back in his chair and looking at Lord Henry over the heavy clusters of purple-lipped irises that stood in the centre of the table, “what do you mean by good, Harry?”

“Yes,” Dorian echoed. He leaned back in his chair and looked at Lord Henry over the thick clusters of purple-lipped irises in the center of the table. “What do you mean by good, Harry?”

“To be good is to be in harmony with one’s self,” he replied, touching the thin stem of his glass with his pale, fine-pointed fingers. “Discord is to be forced to be in harmony with others. One’s own life—that is the important thing. As for the lives of one’s neighbours, if one wishes to be a prig or a Puritan, one can flaunt one’s moral views about them, but they are not one’s concern. Besides, individualism has really the higher aim. Modern morality consists in accepting the standard of one’s age. I consider that for any man of culture to accept the standard of his age is a form of the grossest immorality.”

“To be good is to be at peace with yourself,” he replied, touching the thin stem of his glass with his pale, slender fingers. “Discord comes from being forced to be in harmony with others. Your own life is what matters. As for your neighbors’ lives, you can show off your moral views about them if you want to be a prig or a Puritan. But their lives are none of your concern. Besides, individualism has a higher aim. Modern morality means accepting the standards of your age. I consider it grossly immoral for any cultured person to accept the standards of their age.”

“But, surely, if one lives merely for one’s self, Harry, one pays a terrible price for doing so?” suggested the painter.

“But surely, Harry, if you live only for yourself, you pay a terrible price?” the painter suggested.

“Yes, we are overcharged for everything nowadays. I should fancy that the real tragedy of the poor is that they can afford nothing but self-denial. Beautiful sins, like beautiful things, are the privilege of the rich.”

“Yes, we pay too much for everything these days. I suppose the real tragedy of the poor is that they can afford nothing but going without. Beautiful sins, like beautiful things, are a privilege of the rich.”

“One has to pay in other ways but money.”

“You have to pay in ways other than money.”

“What sort of ways, Basil?”

“What kind of ways, Basil?”

“Oh! I should fancy in remorse, in suffering, in ... well, in the consciousness of degradation.”

“Oh! I imagine in regret, in suffering, in ... well, in knowing how degraded one has become.”

Lord Henry shrugged his shoulders. “My dear fellow, mediæval art is charming, but mediæval emotions are out of date. One can use them in fiction, of course. But then the only things that one can use in fiction are the things that one has ceased to use in fact. Believe me, no civilized man ever regrets a pleasure, and no uncivilized man ever knows what a pleasure is.”

Lord Henry shrugged. “My dear fellow, medieval art is charming, but medieval emotions are outdated. You can use them in fiction, of course. But the only things you can use in fiction are things you no longer use in real life. Believe me, no civilized man ever regrets a pleasure. And no uncivilized man ever knows what a pleasure is.”

“I know what pleasure is,” cried Dorian Gray. “It is to adore some one.”

“I know what pleasure is,” cried Dorian Gray. “It is adoring someone.”

“That is certainly better than being adored,” he answered, toying with some fruits. “Being adored is a nuisance. Women treat us just as humanity treats its gods. They worship us, and are always bothering us to do something for them.”

“That’s certainly better than being adored,” he answered, playing with some fruit. “Being adored is a nuisance. Women treat us just as people treat their gods. They worship us and are always bothering us to do something for them.”

“I should have said that whatever they ask for they had first given to us,” murmured the lad gravely. “They create love in our natures. They have a right to demand it back.”

“I would say that whatever they ask for, they have already given us,” the young man murmured seriously. “They create love in us. They have a right to ask for that love in return.”

“That is quite true, Dorian,” cried Hallward.

“That’s quite true, Dorian,” exclaimed Hallward.

“Nothing is ever quite true,” said Lord Henry.

“Nothing is ever quite true,” said Lord Henry.

“This is,” interrupted Dorian. “You must admit, Harry, that women give to men the very gold of their lives.”

“This is,” Dorian interrupted. “You have to admit, Harry, that women give men the very best of their lives.”

“Possibly,” he sighed, “but they invariably want it back in such very small change. That is the worry. Women, as some witty Frenchman once put it, inspire us with the desire to do masterpieces and always prevent us from carrying them out.”

“Perhaps,” he sighed, “but they always want it back in such tiny amounts. That’s the trouble. As some witty Frenchman once said, women inspire us to create masterpieces, but always prevent us from finishing them.”

“Harry, you are dreadful! I don’t know why I like you so much.”

“Harry, you’re awful! I don’t know why I like you so much.”

“You will always like me, Dorian,” he replied. “Will you have some coffee, you fellows? Waiter, bring coffee, and fine-champagne, and some cigarettes. No, don’t mind the cigarettes—I have some. Basil, I can’t allow you to smoke cigars. You must have a cigarette. A cigarette is the perfect type of a perfect pleasure. It is exquisite, and it leaves one unsatisfied. What more can one want? Yes, Dorian, you will always be fond of me. I represent to you all the sins you have never had the courage to commit.”

“You will always like me, Dorian,” he replied. “Would you fellows like some coffee? Waiter, bring coffee, fine-champagne, and some cigarettes. No, never mind the cigarettes. I have some. Basil, I can’t let you smoke cigars. You must have a cigarette. A cigarette is the perfect example of a perfect pleasure. It’s exquisite, and it leaves you unsatisfied. What more could anyone want? Yes, Dorian, you will always be fond of me. I represent all the sins you have never had the courage to commit.”

“What nonsense you talk, Harry!” cried the lad, taking a light from a fire-breathing silver dragon that the waiter had placed on the table. “Let us go down to the theatre. When Sibyl comes on the stage you will have a new ideal of life. She will represent something to you that you have never known.”

“What nonsense you talk, Harry!” cried the young man. He took a light from a fire-breathing silver dragon the waiter had placed on the table. “Let’s go to the theatre. When Sibyl comes on stage, you’ll have a new ideal of life. She’ll represent something to you that you’ve never known.”

“I have known everything,” said Lord Henry, with a tired look in his eyes, “but I am always ready for a new emotion. I am afraid, however, that, for me at any rate, there is no such thing. Still, your wonderful girl may thrill me. I love acting. It is so much more real than life. Let us go. Dorian, you will come with me. I am so sorry, Basil, but there is only room for two in the brougham. You must follow us in a hansom.”

“I have experienced everything,” said Lord Henry, his eyes looking tired, “but I am always ready for a new emotion. I am afraid, though, that there is no such thing for me. Still, your wonderful girl may thrill me. I love acting. It is so much more real than life. Let us go. Dorian, you will come with me. I am so sorry, Basil, but there is only room for two in the carriage. You must follow us in a cab.”

They got up and put on their coats, sipping their coffee standing. The painter was silent and preoccupied. There was a gloom over him. He could not bear this marriage, and yet it seemed to him to be better than many other things that might have happened. After a few minutes, they all passed downstairs. He drove off by himself, as had been arranged, and watched the flashing lights of the little brougham in front of him. A strange sense of loss came over him. He felt that Dorian Gray would never again be to him all that he had been in the past. Life had come between them.... His eyes darkened, and the crowded flaring streets became blurred to his eyes. When the cab drew up at the theatre, it seemed to him that he had grown years older.

They got up and put on their coats, sipping their coffee as they stood. The painter was quiet and lost in thought. He felt gloomy. He could not bear the marriage, yet it seemed better than many other things that might have happened. After a few minutes, they all went downstairs. He rode off alone, as they had arranged, watching the flashing lights of the small carriage ahead of him. A strange sense of loss came over him. He felt that Dorian Gray would never again mean as much to him as he had in the past. Life had come between them.... His eyes darkened, and the crowded, brightly lit streets blurred before him. When the cab stopped at the theatre, he felt as if he had grown years older.