psychological point of view, how interesting he was! The new manner in
art, the fresh mode of looking at life, suggested so strangely by the
merely visible presence of one who was unconscious of it all; the silent
spirit that dwelt in dim woodland, and walked unseen in open field,
suddenly showing herself, Dryad-like and not afraid, because in his soul
who sought for her there had been wakened that wonderful vision to
which alone are wonderful things revealed; the mere shapes and patterns
of things becoming, as it were, refined, and gaining a kind of
symbolical value, as though they were themselves patterns of some other
and more perfect form whose shadow they made real: how strange it all
was! He remembered something like it in history. Was it not Plato, that
artist in thought, who had first analysed it? Was it not Buonarotti who
had carved it in the coloured marbles of a sonnet-sequence? But in our
own century it was strange.... Yes; he would try to be to Dorian Gray
what, without knowing it, the lad was to the painter who had fashioned
the wonderful portrait. He would seek to dominate him--had already,
indeed, half done so. He would make that wonderful spirit his own. There
was something fascinating in this son of Love and Death.

Suddenly he stopped, and glanced up at the houses. He found that he had
passed his aunt's some distance, and, smiling to himself, turned back.
When he entered the somewhat sombre hall the butler told him that they
had gone in to lunch. He gave one of the footmen his hat and stick, and
passed into the dining-room.

"Late as usual, Harry," cried his aunt, shaking her head at him.

He invented a facile excuse, and having taken the vacant seat next to
her, looked round to see who was there. Dorian bowed to him shyly from
the end of the table, a flush of pleasure stealing into his cheek.
Opposite was the Duchess of Harley; a lady of admirable good-nature and
good temper, much liked by everyone who knew her, and of those ample
architectural proportions that in women who are not Duchesses are
described by contemporary historians as stoutness. Next to her sat, on
her right, Sir Thomas Burdon, a Radical member of Parliament, who
followed his leader in public life, and in private life followed the
best cooks, dining with the Tories, and thinking with the Liberals, in
accordance with a wise and well-known rule. The post on her left was
occupied by Mr. Erskine of Treadley, an old gentleman of conside