tyle than his matter
would carry. Wise kings wear shabby clothes, and leave the gold lace
to the drum major.

"You do not, unless my memory is betraying me as usual, quite
recollect the order of events just before the trial. That day at the
Cafe Royal, Wilde said he had come to ask you to go into the witness
box next day and testify that _Dorian Gray_ was a highly moral work.
Your answer was something like this: 'For God's sake, man, put
everything on that plane out of your head. You don't realize what is
going to happen to you. It is not going to be a matter of clever talk
about your books. They are going to bring up a string of witnesses
that will put art and literature out of the question. Clarke will
throw up his brief. He will carry the case to a certain point; and
then, when he sees the avalanche coming, he will back out and leave
you in the dock. What you have to do is to cross to France to-night.
Leave a letter saying that you cannot face the squalor and horror of a
law case; that you are an artist and unfitted for such things. Don't
stay here clutching at straws like testimonials to _Dorian Gray_. _I
tell you I know._ I know what is going to happen. I know Clarke's
sort. I know what evidence they have got. You must go.'

"It was no use. Wilde was in a curious double temper. He made no
pretence either of innocence or of questioning the folly of his
proceedings against Queensberry. But he had an infatuate haughtiness
as to the impossibility of his retreating, and as to his right to
dictate your course. Douglas sat in silence, a haughty indignant
silence, copying Wilde's attitude as all Wilde's admirers did, but
quite probably influencing Wilde as you suggest, by the copy. Oscar
finally rose with a mixture of impatience and his grand air, and
walked out with the remark that he had now found out who were his real
friends; and Douglas followed him, absurdly smaller, and imitating his
walk, like a curate following an archbishop.[7] You remember it the
other way about; but just consider this. Douglas was in the wretched
position of having ruined Wilde merely to annoy his father, and of
having attempted it so idiotically that he had actually prepared a
triumph for him. He was, besides, much the youngest man present, and
looked younger than he was. You did not make him welcome: as far as I
recollect you did not greet him by a word or nod. If he had given the
smallest provocation or attempted to take the lead in any wa