Cer 9

    As ting at breakfast next morning, Basil o the room.

    quot;I am so glad I ; ;I called last nigold me you  t  I ragedy mig elegrap first. I read of it quite by ce edition of t I picked up at t once and  not finding you. I cant tell you -broken I am about t you must suffer. But  of folloon Road, isnt it? But I ruding upon a sorro I could not lig a state s be in! And oo!  did s it all?quot;

    quot;My dear Basil, ; murmured Dorian Gray, sipping some pale-yelloe, gold-beaded bubble of Venetian glass and looking dreadfully bored. quot;I  t Lady G time. e i sang divinely. Dont talk about s. If one doesnt talk about a t  is simply expression, as  gives reality to tion t s t  on tage. ell me about yourself and ing.quot;

    quot;You  to t; said rained touc;You  to talk to me of otti singing divinely, before t of a grave to sleep in? ore for t little we body of ;

    quot;Stop, Basil! I  !quot; cried Dorian, leaping to . quot;You must not tell me about t is done is done.  is past is past.quot;

    quot;You call yesterday t?quot;

    quot; ual lapse of time got to do ? It is only so get rid of an emotion. A man   to be at tions. I  to use to enjoy to dominate t;

    quot;Dorian, tely. You look exactly ter day, used to come doo my studio to sit for ure. But you ural, and affectionate t unspoiled creature in t knoy in you. It is all .quot;

    to t for a fes on t;I o deal to ;  last, quot;more to you. You only taugo be vain.quot;

    quot;ell, I am punis, Dorian--or s;

    quot;I dont kno; urning round. quot;I dont kno.  do you ?quot;

    quot;I  to paint,quot; said tist sadly.

    quot;Basil,quot; said to ting ;you oo late. Yesterday, w Sibyl Vane ;

    quot;Killed  about t?quot; cried  h an expression of horror.

    quot;My dear Basil! Surely you dont t ? Of course s;

    t;; tered, and a shrough him.

    quot;No,quot; said Dorian Gray, quot;t it. It is one of t romantic tragedies of t lead t commonplace lives. tedious. You knoue and all t kind of t Sibyl ragedy. S nig you say, s migo t. tyr about ic uselessness of martyrdom, all its ed beauty. But, as I  not t suffered. If you erday at a particular moment-- about  five, perer to six-- you ,  I  passed a repeat an emotion. No one can, except sentimentalists. And you are a, Basil. You come do is cic person! You remind me of a story old me about a certain p y years of rying to get some grievance redressed, or some unjust laered--I forget exactly  . ely noto do, almost died of ennui, and became a confirmed misant to console me, teaco forget  from a proper artistic point of vie not Gautier e about la consolation des arts? I remember picking up a little vellum-covered book in your studio one day and c delig like t young man you told me of ogeto say t yelloin could console one for all tiful t one can touce surroundings, luxury, pomp--to be got from all t tistic temperament t te, or at any rate reveal, is still more to me. to become tator of ones o my talking to you like t realized s, ne, but you must not like me less. I am c you must al you are better t stronger-- you are too muc you are better. And o be toget leave me, Basil, and dont quarrel  I am. to be said.quot;

    ter felt strangely moved. tely dear to y  turning point in .  bear ter all,   was good, so muc was noble.

    quot;ell, Dorian,quot;  lengt;I  speak to you again about ter to-day. I only trust your name  be mentioned in connection . t is to take place ternoon. ;

    Dorian s tion of t;inquest.quot; t everyt;t kno; he answered.

    quot;But surely s;

    quot;Only my Cian name, and t I am quite sure sioned to any one. Sold me once t to learn  ty of  do me a dra;

    quot;I ry and do somet  you must come and sit to me yourself again. I cant get on  you.quot;

    quot;I can never sit to you again, Basil. It is impossible!quot; arting back.

    ter stared at ;My dear boy, ; ;Do you mean to say you dont like ? Let me look at it. It is t take t is simply disgraceful of your servant . I felt t as I came in.quot;

    quot;My servant o do , Basil. You dont imagine I let tles my floimes-- t is all. No; I did it myself. t oo strong on trait.quot;

    quot;too strong! Surely not, my dear fello is an admirable place for it. Let me see it.quot; And ohe room.

    A cry of terror broke from Dorian Grays lips, and er and t;Basil,quot; ;you must not look at it. I dont ;

    quot;Not look at my o serious.  I look at it?quot; exclaimed hallward, laughing.

    quot;If you try to look at it, Basil, on my e serious. I dont offer any explanation, and you are not to ask for any. But, remember, if you touc;

    ruck.  Dorian Gray in absolute amazement. ually pallid rembling all over.

    quot;Dorian!quot;

    quot;Dont speak!quot;

    quot;But ter? Of course I  look at it if you dont  me to,quot; urning on o;But, really, it seems rat I s see my oo ex it in Paris in tumn. I so give it anot of varnis, so I must see it some day, and o-day?quot;

    quot;to ex it! You  to ex it?quot; exclaimed Dorian Gray, a strange sense of terror creeping over o be s? ere people to gape at tery of   kno once.

    quot;Yes; I dont suppose you  to t. Georges Petit is going to collect all my best pictures for a special exion in t ober. trait  for t time. In fact, you are sure to be out of to al.quot;

    Dorian Gray passed ion t t ;You told me a mont you ,quot; ;ent  as many moods as ot your moods are rat ten t you assured me most solemnly t noto send it to any exion. You told ly t; opped suddenly, and a gleam of ligo  Lord o , quot;If you  to range quarter of an  Basil to tell you ure. old me  ion to me.quot; Yes, peroo, . ry.

    quot;Basil,quot; e close and looking raig; me knoo ex my picture?quot;

    ter se of ;Dorian, if I told you, you migainly laug me. I could not bear your doing eito look at your picture again, I am content. I o look at. If you ation.quot;

    quot;No, Basil, you must tell me,quot; insisted Dorian Gray. quot;I t to kno; error y aken its place. ermined to find out Basil ery.

    quot;Let us sit do; said ter, looking troubled. quot;Let us sit do ansion. iced in ture somet probably at first did not strike you, but t revealed itself to you suddenly?quot;

    quot;Basil!quot; cried tcrembling  artled eyes.

    quot;I see you did. Dont speak. ait till you  I o say. Dorian, from t I met you, your personality  extraordinary influence over me. I ed, soul, brain, and poo me tion of t unseen ideal ists like an exquisite dream. I o o myself. I  in my art.... Of course, I never let you kno t . I ood it myself. I only kne I ion face to face, and t to my eyes-- too . I y armour, and as Adonis smans cloak and polisus-blossoms you  on turbid Nile. You ill pool of some Greek ers silent silver t  art se. One day, a fatal day I sometimes termined to paint a rait of you as you actually are, not in tume of dead ages, but in your oime.  y, tly presented to me  mist or veil, I cannot tell. But I kno as I  it, every flake and film of colour seemed to me to reveal my secret. I gre otry. I felt, Dorian, t I old too muc I  too muco it. t  I resolved never to alloure to be exed. You tle annoyed; but t realize all t it meant to me. o  it, laug me. But I did not mind t. ure , I felt t I  my studio, and as soon as I  rid of tolerable fascination of its presence, it seemed to me t I  I , more t you remely good-looking and t I could paint. Even no  it is a mistake to t tion is ever really ses. Art is alract tell us of form and colour--t is all. It often seems to me t art conceals tist far more completely t ever reveals  termined to make your portrait tion. It never occurred to me t you  you  be s not be angry  I old you. As I said to o be wors;

    Dorian Gray dreo  ime. Yet  e pity for ter range confession to ed by ty of a friend. Lord  t oo cynical to be really fond of. ould trange idolatry? as t one of t life ore?

    quot;It is extraordinary to me, Dorian,quot; said ;t you srait. Did you really see it?quot;

    quot;I sa,quot; ;somet seemed to me very curious.quot;

    quot;ell, you dont mind my looking at t;

    Dorian s;You must not ask me t, Basil. I could not possibly let you stand in front of t picture.quot;

    quot;You ;

    quot;Never.quot;

    quot;ell, per. And noo you. A kno cost me to tell you all t I old you.quot;

    quot;My dear Basil,quot; said Dorian, quot; you felt t you admired me too muc is not even a compliment.quot;

    quot;It  intended as a compliment. It  I , someto  of me. Per ones ;

    quot;It ing confession.quot;

    quot; did you expect, Dorian? You didnt see anyture, did you? to see?quot;

    quot;No; to see.  you mustnt talk about ;

    quot;You  ; said ter sadly.

    quot;O; cried ter. quot; is incredible and  is improbable. Just t of life I o lead. But still I dont to rouble. I o you, Basil.quot;

    quot;You  to me again?quot;

    quot;Impossible!quot;

    quot;You spoil my life as an artist by refusing, Dorian. No man comes across t;

    quot;I cant explain it to you, Basil, but I must never sit to you again. tal about a portrait. It s o  as pleasant.quot;

    quot;Pleasanter for you, I am afraid,quot; murmured fully. quot;And no let me look at ture once again. But t cant be e understand  it.quot;

    As  to tle rue reason! And range it , instead of o reveal ,  by cing a secret from  strange confession explained to ers absurd fits of jealousy, ion, ravagant panegyrics, icences-- ood t sorry. to o be sometragic in a friendship so coloured by romance.

    oucrait must be  all costs.  run suc o o remain, even for an o which any of his friends had access.