lad started and drew back. He was bareheaded, and the leaves had
tossed his rebellious curls and tangled all their gilded threads. There
was a look of fear in his eyes, such as people have when they are
suddenly awakened. His finely-chiselled nostrils quivered, and some
hidden nerve shook the scarlet of his lips and left them trembling.

"Yes," continued Lord Henry, "that is one of the great secrets of
life--to cure the soul by means of the senses, and the senses by means
of the soul. You are a wonderful creation. You know more than you think
you know, just as you know less than you want to know."

Dorian Gray frowned and turned his head away. He could not help liking
the tall, graceful young man who was standing by him. His romantic
olive-coloured face and worn expression interested him. There was
something in his low, languid voice that was absolutely fascinating. His
cool, white, flower-like hands, even, had a curious charm. They moved,
as he spoke, like music, and seemed to have a language of their own. But
he felt afraid of him, and ashamed of being afraid. Why had it been left
for a stranger to reveal him to himself? He had known Basil Hallward for
months, but the friendship between them had never altered him. Suddenly
there had come someone across his life who seemed to have disclosed to
him life's mystery. And, yet, what was there to be afraid of? He was not
a schoolboy or a girl. It was absurd to be frightened.

"Let us go and sit in the shade," said Lord Henry. "Parker has brought
out the drinks, and if you stay any longer in this glare you will be
quite spoiled, and Basil will never paint you again. You really must not
allow yourself to become sunburnt. It would be unbecoming."

"What can it matter?" cried Dorian Gray, laughing, as he sat down on the
seat at the end of the garden.

"It should matter everything to you, Mr. Gray."

"Why?"

"Because you have the most marvellous youth, and youth is the one thing
worth having."

"I don't feel that, Lord Henry."

"No, you don't feel it now. Some day, when you are old and wrinkled and
ugly, when thought has seared your forehead with its lines, and passion
branded your lips with its hideous fires, you will feel it, you will
feel it terribly. Now, wherever you go, you charm the world. Will it
always be so?... You have a wonderfully beautiful face, Mr. Gray. Don't
frown. You have. And Beauty is a form of Genius--is higher, indeed, than
Genius, as it needs no