sh you chaps would not squabble over the picture. You had
much better let me have it, Basil. This silly boy doesn't really want
it, and I really do."

"If you let anyone have it but me, Basil, I shall never forgive you!"
cried Dorian Gray; "and I don't allow people to call me a silly boy."

"You know the picture is yours, Dorian. I gave it to you before it
existed."

"And you know you have been a little silly, Mr. Gray, and that you don't
really object to being reminded that you are extremely young."

"I should have objected very strongly this morning, Lord Henry."

"Ah! this morning! You have lived since then."

There came a knock at the door, and the butler entered with a laden
tea-tray and set it down upon a small Japanese table. There was a rattle
of cups and saucers and the hissing of a fluted Georgian urn. Two
globe-shaped china dishes were brought in by a page. Dorian Gray went
over and poured out the tea. The two men sauntered languidly to the
table, and examined what was under the covers.

"Let us go to the theatre to-night," said Lord Henry. "There is sure to
be something on, somewhere. I have promised to dine at White's, but it
is only with an old friend, so I can send him a wire to say that I am
ill, or that I am prevented from coming in consequence of a subsequent
engagement. I think that would be a rather nice excuse: it would have
all the surprise of candour."

"It is such a bore putting on one's dress-clothes," muttered Hallward.
"And, when one has them on, they are so horrid."

"Yes," answered Lord Henry, dreamily, "the costume of the nineteenth
century is detestable. It is so sombre, so depressing. Sin is the only
real colour-element left in modern life."

"You really must not say things like that before Dorian, Harry."

"Before which Dorian? The one who is pouring out tea for us, or the one
in the picture?"

"Before either."

"I should like to come to the theatre with you, Lord Henry," said the
lad.

"Then you shall come; and you will come too, Basil, won't you?"

"I can't really. I would sooner not. I have a lot of work to do."

"Well, then, you and I will go alone, Mr. Gray."

"I should like that awfully."

The painter bit his lip and walked over, cup in hand, to the picture. "I
shall stay with the real Dorian," he said, sadly.

"Is it the real Dorian?" cried the original of the portrait, strolling
across to him. "Am I really like that?"

"Yes; you are just like that."

"H