head drooped. She wiped her eyes with shaking hands. "Sibyl has a
mother," she murmured; "I had none."

The lad was touched. He went towards her, and stooping down, he kissed
her. "I am sorry if I have pained you by asking about my father," he
said, "but I could not help it. I must go now. Good-bye. Don't forget
that you will have only one child now to look after, and believe me that
if this man wrongs my sister, I will find out who he is, track him down,
and kill him like a dog. I swear it."

The exaggerated folly of the threat, the passionate gesture that
accompanied it, the mad melodramatic words, made life seem more vivid to
her. She was familiar with the atmosphere. She breathed more freely, and
for the first time for many months she really admired her son. She would
have liked to have continued the scene on the same emotional scale, but
he cut her short. Trunks had to be carried down and mufflers looked for.
The lodging-house drudge bustled in and out. There was the bargaining
with the cabman. The moment was lost in vulgar details. It was with a
renewed feeling of disappointment that she waved the tattered lace
handkerchief from the window, as her son drove away. She was conscious
that a great opportunity had been wasted. She consoled herself by
telling Sibyl how desolate she felt her life would be, now that she had
only one child to look after. She remembered the phrase. It had pleased
her. Of the threat she said nothing. It was vividly and dramatically
expressed. She felt that they would all laugh at it some day.

CHAPTER 6

"I suppose you have heard the news, Basil?" said Lord Henry that evening
as Hallward was shown into a little private room at the Bristol where
dinner had been laid for three.

"No, Harry," answered the artist, giving his hat and coat to the bowing
waiter. "What is it? Nothing about politics, I hope! They don't interest
me. There is hardly a single person in the House of Commons worth
painting, though many of them would be the better for a little
whitewashing."

"Dorian Gray is engaged to be married," said Lord Henry, watching him as
he spoke.

Hallward started and then frowned. "Dorian engaged to be married!" he
cried. "Impossible!"

"It is perfectly true."

"To whom?"

"To some little actress or other."

"I can't believe it. Dorian is far too sensible."

"Dorian is far too wise not to do foolish things now and then, my dear
Basil."

"Marriage is hardly a thing that one can do now and then, Harry."

"Except in America," rejoined Lord Henry languidly. "But I didn't say he
was married. I said he was engaged to be married. There is a great
difference. I have a distinct remembrance of being married, but I have
no recollection at all of being engaged. I am inclined to think that I
never was engaged."

"But think of Dorian's birth, and position, and wealth. It would be
absurd for him to marry so much beneath him."

"If you want to make him marry this girl, tell him that, Basil. He is
sure to do it, then. Whenever a man does a thoroughly stupid thing, it
is always from the noblest motives."

"I hope the girl is good, Harry. I don't want to see Dorian tied to some
vile creature, who might degrade his nature and ruin his intellect."

"Oh, she is better than good--she is beautiful," murmured Lord Henry,
sipping a glass of vermouth and orange-bitters. "Dorian says she is
beautiful, and he is not often wrong about things of that kind. Your
portrait of him has quickened his appreciation of the personal
appearance of other people. It has had that excellent effect, amongst
others. We are to see her to-night, if that boy doesn't forget his
appointment."

"Are you serious?"

"Quite serious, Basil. I should be miserable if I thought I should ever
be more serious than I am at the present moment."

"But do you approve of it, Harry?" asked the painter, walking up and
down the room and biting his lip. "You can't approve of it, possibly. It
is some silly infatuation."

"I never approve, or disapprove, of anything now. It is an absurd
attitude to take towards life. We are not sent into the world to air our
moral prejudices. I never take any notice of what common people say, and
I never interfere with what charming people do. If a personality
fascinates me, whatever mode of expression that personality selects is
absolutely delightful to me. Dorian Gray falls in love with a beautiful
girl who acts Juliet, and proposes to marry her. Why not? If he wedded
Messalina, he would be none the less interesting. You know I am not a
champion of marriage. The real drawback to marriage is that it makes one
unselfish. And unselfish people are colourless. They lack individuality.


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