years older.

CHAPTER VII

For some reason or other, the house was crowded that night, and the fat
Jew manager who met them at the door was beaming from ear to ear with an
oily, tremulous smile. He escorted them to their box with a sort of
pompous humility, waving his fat jewelled hands, and talking at the top
of his voice. Dorian Gray loathed him more than ever. He felt as if he
had come to look for Miranda and had been met by Caliban. Lord Henry,
upon the other hand, rather liked him. At least he declared he did, and
insisted on shaking him by the hand, and assuring him that he was proud
to meet a man who had discovered a real genius and gone bankrupt over a
poet. Hallward amused himself with watching the faces in the pit. The
heat was terribly oppressive, and the huge sunlight flamed like a
monstrous dahlia with petals of yellow fire. The youths in the gallery
had taken off their coats and waistcoats and hung them over the side.
They talked to each other across the theatre, and shared their oranges
with the tawdry girls who sat beside them. Some women were laughing in
the pit. Their voices were horribly shrill and discordant. The sound of
the popping of corks came from the bar.

"What a place to find one's divinity in!" said Lord Henry.

"Yes!" answered Dorian Gray. "It was here I found her, and she is divine
beyond all living things. When she acts you will forget everything.
These common, rough people, with their coarse faces and brutal gestures,
become quite different when she is on the stage. They sit silently and
watch her. They weep and laugh as she wills them to do. She makes them
as responsive as a violin. She spiritualises them, and one feels that
they are of the same flesh and blood as one's self."

"The same flesh and blood as one's self! Oh, I hope not!" exclaimed Lord
Henry, who was scanning the occupants of the gallery through his
opera-glass.

"Don't pay any attention to him, Dorian," said the painter. "I
understand what you mean, and I believe in this girl. Anyone you love
must be marvellous, and any girl that has the effect you describe must
be fine and noble. To spiritualise one's age--that is something worth
doing. If this girl can give a soul to those who have lived without one,
if she can create the sense of beauty in people whose lives have been
sordid and ugly, if she can strip them of their selfishness and lend
them tears for sorrows that are not their own, she is worthy of all y