enly became fiery-coloured to him. It
seemed to him that he had been walking in fire. Why had he not known it?

With his subtle smile, Lord Henry watched him. He knew the precise
psychological moment when to say nothing. He felt intensely interested.
He was amazed at the sudden impression that his words had produced, and,
remembering a book that he had read when he was sixteen, a book which
had revealed to him much that he had not known before, he wondered
whether Dorian Gray was passing through a similar experience. He had
merely shot an arrow into the air. Had it hit the mark? How fascinating
the lad was!

Hallward painted away with that marvellous bold touch of his, that had
the true refinement and perfect delicacy that in art, at any rate, comes
only from strength. He was unconscious of the silence.

"Basil, I am tired of standing," cried Dorian Gray, suddenly. "I must go
out and sit in the garden. The air is stifling here."

"My dear fellow, I am so sorry. When I am painting, I can't think of
anything else. But you never sat better. You were perfectly still. And I
have caught the effect I wanted--the half-parted lips, and the bright
look in the eyes. I don't know what Harry has been saying to you, but he
has certainly made you have the most wonderful expression. I suppose he
has been paying you compliments. You mustn't believe a word that he
says."

"He has certainly not been paying me compliments. Perhaps that is the
reason that I don't believe anything he has told me."

"You know you believe it all," said Lord Henry, looking at him with his
dreamy, languorous eyes. "I will go out to the garden with you. It is
horribly hot in the studio. Basil, let us have something iced to drink,
something with strawberries in it."

"Certainly, Harry. Just touch the bell, and when Parker comes I will
tell him what you want. I have got to work up this background, so I
will join you later on. Don't keep Dorian too long. I have never been in
better form for painting than I am to-day. This is going to be my
masterpiece. It is my masterpiece as it stands."

Lord Henry went out to the garden, and found Dorian Gray burying his
face in the great cool lilac-blossoms, feverishly drinking in their
perfume as if it had been wine. He came close to him, and put his hand
upon his shoulder. "You are quite right to do that," he murmured.
"Nothing can cure the soul but the senses, just as nothing can cure the
senses but the soul."

The