Chapter 17

8 min

A week later Dorian Gray was sitting in the conservatory at Selby Royal, talking to the pretty Duchess of Monmouth, who with her husband, a jaded-looking man of sixty, was amongst his guests. It was tea-time, and the mellow light of the huge, lace-covered lamp that stood on the table lit up the delicate china and hammered silver of the service at which the duchess was presiding. Her white hands were moving daintily among the cups, and her full red lips were smiling at something that Dorian had whispered to her. Lord Henry was lying back in a silk-draped wicker chair, looking at them. On a peach-coloured divan sat Lady Narborough, pretending to listen to the duke’s description of the last Brazilian beetle that he had added to his collection. Three young men in elaborate smoking-suits were handing tea-cakes to some of the women. The house-party consisted of twelve people, and there were more expected to arrive on the next day.

A week later, Dorian Gray was sitting in the conservatory at Selby Royal, talking to the pretty Duchess of Monmouth. She and her husband, a weary-looking man of sixty, were among his guests. It was tea-time, and a huge lace-covered lamp stood on the table. Its soft light shone on the delicate china and hammered silver of the tea service, which the duchess was overseeing. Her white hands moved daintily among the cups. Her full red lips smiled at something Dorian had whispered to her. Lord Henry leaned back in a silk-draped wicker chair, watching them. Lady Narborough sat on a peach-coloured sofa, pretending to listen to the duke. He was describing the latest Brazilian beetle he had added to his collection. Three young men in elaborate smoking suits were serving tea-cakes to some of the women. There were twelve people in the house party, and more were expected the next day.

“What are you two talking about?” said Lord Henry, strolling over to the table and putting his cup down. “I hope Dorian has told you about my plan for rechristening everything, Gladys. It is a delightful idea.”

“What are you two talking about?” asked Lord Henry. He walked over to the table and set down his cup. “I hope Dorian has told you about my plan to rename everything, Gladys. It’s a delightful idea.”

“But I don’t want to be rechristened, Harry,” rejoined the duchess, looking up at him with her wonderful eyes. “I am quite satisfied with my own name, and I am sure Mr. Gray should be satisfied with his.”

“But I don’t want a new name, Harry,” the duchess replied, looking up at him with her wonderful eyes. “I’m quite happy with my own name, and I’m sure Mr. Gray should be happy with his.”

“My dear Gladys, I would not alter either name for the world. They are both perfect. I was thinking chiefly of flowers. Yesterday I cut an orchid, for my button-hole. It was a marvellous spotted thing, as effective as the seven deadly sins. In a thoughtless moment I asked one of the gardeners what it was called. He told me it was a fine specimen of Robinsoniana, or something dreadful of that kind. It is a sad truth, but we have lost the faculty of giving lovely names to things. Names are everything. I never quarrel with actions. My one quarrel is with words. That is the reason I hate vulgar realism in literature. The man who could call a spade a spade should be compelled to use one. It is the only thing he is fit for.”

“My dear Gladys, I would not change either name for the world. They are both perfect. I was thinking mainly of flowers. Yesterday I cut an orchid for my buttonhole. It was a marvelous spotted thing, as striking as the seven deadly sins. Without thinking, I asked one of the gardeners what it was called. He told me it was a fine specimen of Robinsoniana, or something dreadful like that. It is a sad truth, but we have lost the ability to give things lovely names. Names are everything. I never argue about actions. Words are the only thing I argue about. That is why I hate vulgar realism in literature. A man who calls a spade a spade should be forced to use one. It is the only thing he is fit for.”

“Then what should we call you, Harry?” she asked.

“His name is Prince Paradox,” said Dorian.

“I recognize him in a flash,” exclaimed the duchess.

“I recognize him instantly,” the duchess exclaimed.

“I won’t hear of it,” laughed Lord Henry, sinking into a chair. “From a label there is no escape! I refuse the title.”

“I won’t hear of it,” Lord Henry said with a laugh, sinking into a chair. “You can’t escape a label! I refuse the title.”

“Royalties may not abdicate,” fell as a warning from pretty lips.

“Royals may not give up their thrones,” came the warning from pretty lips.

“You wish me to defend my throne, then?”

“So you want me to defend my throne?”

“Yes.”

“I give the truths of to-morrow.”

“I give the truths of tomorrow.”

“I prefer the mistakes of to-day,” she answered.

“I prefer today’s mistakes,” she answered.

“You disarm me, Gladys,” he cried, catching the wilfulness of her mood.

“You disarm me, Gladys,” he exclaimed, taking on her willful mood.

“Of your shield, Harry, not of your spear.”

“Your shield, Harry, not your spear.”

“I never tilt against beauty,” he said, with a wave of his hand.

“I never fight against beauty,” he said, waving his hand.

“That is your error, Harry, believe me. You value beauty far too much.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Harry, believe me. You value beauty far too much.”

“How can you say that? I admit that I think that it is better to be beautiful than to be good. But on the other hand, no one is more ready than I am to acknowledge that it is better to be good than to be ugly.”

“How can you say that? I admit I think it’s better to be beautiful than good. But no one is more willing than I am to admit that it’s better to be good than ugly.”

“Ugliness is one of the seven deadly sins, then?” cried the duchess. “What becomes of your simile about the orchid?”

“So ugliness is one of the seven deadly sins?” exclaimed the duchess. “What about your comparison to the orchid?”

“Ugliness is one of the seven deadly virtues, Gladys. You, as a good Tory, must not underrate them. Beer, the Bible, and the seven deadly virtues have made our England what she is.”

“Ugliness is one of the seven deadly virtues, Gladys. As a good Tory, you must not underestimate them. Beer, the Bible, and the seven deadly virtues have made our England what it is.”

“You don’t like your country, then?” she asked.

“So you don’t like your country?” she asked.

“I live in it.”

“That you may censure it the better.”

“So you can criticize it better.”

“Would you have me take the verdict of Europe on it?” he inquired.

“Do you want me to accept Europe’s judgment on it?” he asked.

“What do they say of us?”

“What do they say about us?”

“That Tartuffe has emigrated to England and opened a shop.”

“Tartuffe has moved to England and opened a shop.”

“Is that yours, Harry?”

“I give it to you.”

“I could not use it. It is too true.”

“I couldn't use it. It's too true.”

“You need not be afraid. Our countrymen never recognize a description.”

“You don’t need to worry. Our countrymen never recognize a description.”

“They are practical.”

“They are more cunning than practical. When they make up their ledger, they balance stupidity by wealth, and vice by hypocrisy.”

“They are more cunning than practical. When they add up their accounts, they balance stupidity with wealth, and vice with hypocrisy.”

“Still, we have done great things.”

“Great things have been thrust on us, Gladys.”

“Great things have been forced upon us, Gladys.”

“We have carried their burden.”

“Only as far as the Stock Exchange.”

She shook her head. “I believe in the race,” she cried.

She shook her head. “I believe in the race,” she exclaimed.

“It represents the survival of the pushing.”

“It represents the survival of the pushy.”

“It has development.”

“It develops.”

“Decay fascinates me more.”

“What of art?” she asked.

“What about art?” she asked.

“It is a malady.”

“It is an illness.”

“Love?”

“An illusion.”

“Religion?”

“The fashionable substitute for belief.”

“The trendy replacement for belief.”

“You are a sceptic.”

“You are a skeptic.”

“Never! Scepticism is the beginning of faith.”

“Never! Doubt is the beginning of faith.”

“What are you?”

“To define is to limit.”

“To define something is to limit it.”

“Give me a clue.”

“Threads snap. You would lose your way in the labyrinth.”

“Threads break. You would lose your way in the maze.”

“You bewilder me. Let us talk of some one else.”

“You confuse me. Let’s talk about someone else.”

“Our host is a delightful topic. Years ago he was christened Prince Charming.”

“Our host is a delightful subject. Years ago, he was nicknamed Prince Charming.”

“Ah! don’t remind me of that,” cried Dorian Gray.

“Ah! Don’t remind me of that,” Dorian Gray cried.

“Our host is rather horrid this evening,” answered the duchess, colouring. “I believe he thinks that Monmouth married me on purely scientific principles as the best specimen he could find of a modern butterfly.”

“Our host is rather unpleasant this evening,” replied the duchess, blushing. “I believe he thinks Monmouth married me for purely scientific reasons, as the best example he could find of a modern butterfly.”

“Well, I hope he won’t stick pins into you, Duchess,” laughed Dorian.

“Well, I hope he won’t stick pins into you, Duchess,” Dorian laughed.

“Oh! my maid does that already, Mr. Gray, when she is annoyed with me.”

“Oh! My maid already does that, Mr. Gray, when she’s annoyed with me.”

“And what does she get annoyed with you about, Duchess?”

“For the most trivial things, Mr. Gray, I assure you. Usually because I come in at ten minutes to nine and tell her that I must be dressed by half-past eight.”

“For the most trivial things, Mr. Gray, I assure you. Usually because I come in at 8:50 and tell her I must be dressed by 8:30.”

“How unreasonable of her! You should give her warning.”

“How unreasonable of her! You should give her notice.”

“I daren’t, Mr. Gray. Why, she invents hats for me. You remember the one I wore at Lady Hilstone’s garden-party? You don’t, but it is nice of you to pretend that you do. Well, she made it out of nothing. All good hats are made out of nothing.”

“I wouldn’t dare, Mr. Gray. After all, she designs hats for me. Do you remember the one I wore to Lady Hilstone’s garden party? You don’t, but it’s nice of you to pretend you do. Well, she made that hat out of nothing. All good hats are made out of nothing.”

“Like all good reputations, Gladys,” interrupted Lord Henry. “Every effect that one produces gives one an enemy. To be popular one must be a mediocrity.”

“Like all good reputations, Gladys,” Lord Henry interrupted. “Every impression you make earns you an enemy. To be popular, you must be mediocre.”

“Not with women,” said the duchess, shaking her head; “and women rule the world. I assure you we can’t bear mediocrities. We women, as some one says, love with our ears, just as you men love with your eyes, if you ever love at all.”

“Not with women,” said the duchess, shaking her head. “And women rule the world. I assure you, we can’t stand mediocrity. As someone says, we women love with our ears, just as you men love with your eyes, if you ever love at all.”

“It seems to me that we never do anything else,” murmured Dorian.

“It seems to me we never do anything else,” Dorian murmured.

“Ah! then, you never really love, Mr. Gray,” answered the duchess with mock sadness.

“Oh, so you never really love, Mr. Gray,” the duchess replied with mock sadness.

“My dear Gladys!” cried Lord Henry. “How can you say that? Romance lives by repetition, and repetition converts an appetite into an art. Besides, each time that one loves is the only time one has ever loved. Difference of object does not alter singleness of passion. It merely intensifies it. We can have in life but one great experience at best, and the secret of life is to reproduce that experience as often as possible.”

“My dear Gladys!” cried Lord Henry. “How can you say that? Romance thrives on repetition, and repetition turns an appetite into an art. Besides, each time we love, it feels like the only time we have ever loved. Loving someone different does not change the single nature of passion. It only makes passion stronger. At best, we can have only one great experience in life. The secret of life is to repeat that experience as often as possible.”

“Even when one has been wounded by it, Harry?” asked the duchess after a pause.

“Even when someone has been hurt by it, Harry?” the duchess asked after a pause.

“Especially when one has been wounded by it,” answered Lord Henry.

“Especially when you've been hurt by it,” replied Lord Henry.

The duchess turned and looked at Dorian Gray with a curious expression in her eyes. “What do you say to that, Mr. Gray?” she inquired.

The duchess turned and looked at Dorian Gray with a curious expression. “What do you say to that, Mr. Gray?” she asked.

Dorian hesitated for a moment. Then he threw his head back and laughed. “I always agree with Harry, Duchess.”

Dorian paused for a moment. Then he threw his head back and laughed. “I always agree with Harry, Duchess.”

“Even when he is wrong?”

“Harry is never wrong, Duchess.”

“And does his philosophy make you happy?”

“I have never searched for happiness. Who wants happiness? I have searched for pleasure.”

“I’ve never looked for happiness. Who wants happiness? I’ve looked for pleasure.”

“And found it, Mr. Gray?”

“And did you find it, Mr. Gray?”

“Often. Too often.”

The duchess sighed. “I am searching for peace,” she said, “and if I don’t go and dress, I shall have none this evening.”

The duchess sighed. “I’m looking for peace,” she said, “and if I don’t go get dressed, I won’t have any this evening.”

“Let me get you some orchids, Duchess,” cried Dorian, starting to his feet and walking down the conservatory.

“Let me get you some orchids, Duchess,” Dorian exclaimed. He jumped to his feet and walked down the conservatory.

“You are flirting disgracefully with him,” said Lord Henry to his cousin. “You had better take care. He is very fascinating.”

“You’re flirting with him outrageously,” Lord Henry said to his cousin. “You’d better be careful. He’s very charming.”

“If he were not, there would be no battle.”

“If he weren’t, there would be no battle.”

“Greek meets Greek, then?”

“So, two evenly matched rivals meet?”

“I am on the side of the Trojans. They fought for a woman.”

“I’m on the Trojans’ side. They fought for a woman.”

“They were defeated.”

“There are worse things than capture,” she answered.

“There are worse things than being captured,” she replied.

“You gallop with a loose rein.”

“You gallop without holding the reins tight.”

“Pace gives life,” was the riposte.

“Pace gives life,” was the reply.

“I shall write it in my diary to-night.”

“I’ll write it in my diary tonight.”

“What?”

“That a burnt child loves the fire.”

“That a child who has been burned loves the fire.”

“I am not even singed. My wings are untouched.”

“I am not even burned. My wings are untouched.”

“You use them for everything, except flight.”

“You use them for everything except flying.”

“Courage has passed from men to women. It is a new experience for us.”

“Courage has shifted from men to women. This is a new experience for us.”

“You have a rival.”

“Who?”

He laughed. “Lady Narborough,” he whispered. “She perfectly adores him.”

He laughed. “Lady Narborough,” he whispered. “She absolutely adores him.”

“You fill me with apprehension. The appeal to antiquity is fatal to us who are romanticists.”

“You make me uneasy. Appealing to the authority of the ancient world is fatal for those of us who are romantics.”

“Romanticists! You have all the methods of science.”

“Romantics! You use all the methods of science.”

“Men have educated us.”

“Men have taught us.”

“But not explained you.”

“But you haven't been explained.”

“Describe us as a sex,” was her challenge.

“Describe us as women,” she challenged him.

“Sphinxes without secrets.”

She looked at him, smiling. “How long Mr. Gray is!” she said. “Let us go and help him. I have not yet told him the colour of my frock.”

She looked at him and smiled. “Mr. Gray is taking so long!” she said. “Let’s go and help him. I haven’t told him the color of my dress yet.”

“Ah! you must suit your frock to his flowers, Gladys.”

“Oh! You must match your dress to his flowers, Gladys.”

“That would be a premature surrender.”

“That would be giving up too soon.”

“Romantic art begins with its climax.”

“Romantic art begins at its peak.”

“I must keep an opportunity for retreat.”

“I must keep a way to retreat.”

“In the Parthian manner?”

“Like a parting shot?”

“They found safety in the desert. I could not do that.”

“They found safety in the desert. I could not find safety there.”

“Women are not always allowed a choice,” he answered, but hardly had he finished the sentence before from the far end of the conservatory came a stifled groan, followed by the dull sound of a heavy fall. Everybody started up. The duchess stood motionless in horror. And with fear in his eyes, Lord Henry rushed through the flapping palms to find Dorian Gray lying face downwards on the tiled floor in a deathlike swoon.

“Women are not always allowed a choice,” he replied. But he had barely finished speaking when a muffled groan came from the far end of the conservatory. It was followed by the dull sound of a heavy fall. Everyone sprang to their feet. The duchess stood frozen in horror. Fear in his eyes, Lord Henry rushed through the flapping palms. He found Dorian Gray lying face down on the tiled floor, unconscious and deathly still.

He was carried at once into the blue drawing-room and laid upon one of the sofas. After a short time, he came to himself and looked round with a dazed expression.

He was carried straight into the blue drawing room and laid on a sofa. After a short time, he regained consciousness and looked around, dazed.

“What has happened?” he asked. “Oh! I remember. Am I safe here, Harry?” He began to tremble.

“What happened?” he asked. “Oh! I remember. Am I safe here, Harry?” He began to shake.

“My dear Dorian,” answered Lord Henry, “you merely fainted. That was all. You must have overtired yourself. You had better not come down to dinner. I will take your place.”

“My dear Dorian,” Lord Henry replied, “you just fainted. That was all. You must have tired yourself out. You had better not come down to dinner. I’ll take your place.”

“No, I will come down,” he said, struggling to his feet. “I would rather come down. I must not be alone.”

“No, I’ll come down,” he said, struggling to his feet. “I’d rather come down. I must not be alone.”

He went to his room and dressed. There was a wild recklessness of gaiety in his manner as he sat at table, but now and then a thrill of terror ran through him when he remembered that, pressed against the window of the conservatory, like a white handkerchief, he had seen the face of James Vane watching him.

He went to his room and got dressed. At the table, he was wildly and recklessly cheerful. But now and then, a thrill of terror ran through him. He remembered seeing James Vane's face watching him, pressed against the conservatory window like a white handkerchief.