ow wonderful, Basil!"

"At least you are like it in appearance. But it will never alter,"
sighed Hallward. "That is something."

"What a fuss people make about fidelity!" exclaimed Lord Henry. "Why,
even in love it is purely a question for physiology. It has nothing to
do with our own will. Young men want to be faithful, and are not; old
men want to be faithless, and cannot: that is all one can say."

"Don't go to the theatre to-night, Dorian," said Hallward. "Stop and
dine with me."

"I can't, Basil."

"Why?"

"Because I have promised Lord Henry Wotton to go with him."

"He won't like you the better for keeping your promises. He always
breaks his own. I beg you not to go."

Dorian Gray laughed and shook his head.

"I entreat you."

The lad hesitated, and looked over at Lord Henry, who was watching them
from the tea-table with an amused smile.

"I must go, Basil," he answered.

"Very well," said Hallward; and he went over and laid down his cup on
the tray. "It is rather late, and, as you have to dress, you had better
lose no time. Good-bye, Harry. Good-bye, Dorian. Come and see me soon.
Come to-morrow."

"Certainly."

"You won't forget?"

"No, of course not," cried Dorian.

"And... Harry!"

"Yes, Basil?"

"Remember what I asked you, when we were in the garden this morning."

"I have forgotten it."

"I trust you."

"I wish I could trust myself," said Lord Henry, laughing. "Come, Mr.
Gray, my hansom is outside, and I can drop you at your own place.
Good-bye, Basil. It has been a most interesting afternoon."

As the door closed behind them, the painter flung himself down on a
sofa, and a look of pain came into his face.

CHAPTER III

At half-past twelve next day Lord Henry Wotton strolled from Curzon
Street over to the Albany to call on his uncle, Lord Fermor, a genial if
somewhat rough-mannered old bachelor, whom the outside world called
selfish because it derived no particular benefit from him, but who was
considered generous by Society as he fed the people who amused him. His
father had been our ambassador at Madrid when Isabella was young, and
Prim unthought of, but had retired from the Diplomatic Service in a
capricious moment of annoyance at not being offered the Embassy at
Paris, a post to which he considered that he was fully entitled by
reason of his birth, his indolence, the good English of his despatches,
and his inordinate passion for pleasure. The son, who had been his