to tell you all that I have told you."

"My dear Basil," said Dorian, "what have you told me? Simply that you
felt that you admired me too much. That is not even a compliment."

"It was not intended as a compliment. It was a confession. Now that I
have made it, something seems to have gone out of me. Perhaps one should
never put one's worship into words."

"It was a very disappointing confession."

"Why, what did you expect, Dorian? You didn't see anything else in the
picture, did you? There was nothing else to see?"

"No; there was nothing else to see. Why do you ask? But you mustn't talk
about worship. It is foolish. You and I are friends, Basil, and we must
always remain so."

"You have got Harry," said the painter sadly.

"Oh, Harry!" cried the lad, with a ripple of laughter. "Harry spends his
days in saying what is incredible and his evenings in doing what is
improbable. Just the sort of life I would like to lead. But still I
don't think I would go to Harry if I were in trouble. I would sooner go
to you, Basil."

"You will sit to me again?"

"Impossible!"

"You spoil my life as an artist by refusing, Dorian. No man comes across
two ideal things. Few come across one."

"I can't explain it to you, Basil, but I must never sit to you again.
There is something fatal about a portrait. It has a life of its own. I
will come and have tea with you. That will be just as pleasant."

"Pleasanter for you, I am afraid," murmured Hallward regretfully. "And
now good-bye. I am sorry you won't let me look at the picture once
again. But that can't be helped. I quite understand what you feel about it."

As he left the room, Dorian Gray smiled to himself. Poor Basil! How
little he knew of the true reason! And bow strange it was that, instead
of having been forced to reveal his own secret, he had succeeded, almost
by chance, in wresting a secret from his friend! How much that strange
confession explained to him! The painter's absurd fits of jealousy, his
wild devotion, his extravagant panegyrics, his curious reticences-- he
understood them all now, and he felt sorry. There seemed to him to be
something tragic in a friendship so coloured by romance.

He sighed and touched the bell. The portrait must be hidden away at all
costs. He could not run such a risk of discovery again. It had been mad
of him to have allowed the thing to remain, even for an hour, in a room
to which any of his friends had access.

CHAPTER 10

When his servant entered, he looked at him steadfastly and wondered if
he had thought of peering behind the screen. The man was quite impassive
and waited for his orders. Dorian lit a cigarette and walked over to the
glass and glanced into it. He could see the reflection of Victor's face
perfectly. It was like a placid mask of servility. There was nothing to
be afraid of, there. Yet he thought it best to be on his guard.

Speaking very slowly, he told him to tell the house-keeper that he
wanted to see her, and then to go to the frame-maker and ask him to send
two of his men round at once. It seemed to him that as the man left the
room his eyes wandered in the direction of the screen. Or was that
merely his own fancy?

After a few moments, in her black silk dress, with old-fashioned thread
mittens on her wrinkled hands, Mrs. Leaf bustled into the library. He
asked her for the key of the schoolroom.

"The old schoolroom, Mr. Dorian?" she exclaimed. "Why, it is full of
dust. I must get it arranged and put straight before you go into it. It
is not fit for you to see, sir. It is not, indeed."

"I don't want it put straight, Leaf. I only want the key."

"Well, sir, you'll be covered with cobwebs if you go into it. Why, it
hasn't been opened for nearly five years--not since his lordship died."

He winced at the mention of his grandfather. He had hateful memories of
him. "That does not matter," he answered. "I simply want to see the
place-- that is all. Give me the key."

"And here is the key, sir," said the old lady, going over the contents
of her bunch with tremulously uncertain hands. "Here is the key. I'll
have it off the bunch in a moment. But you don't think of living up
there, sir, and you so comfortable here?"

"No, no," he cried petulantly. "Thank you, Leaf. That will do."

She lingered for a few moments, and was garrulous over some detail of
the household. He sighed and told her to manage things as she thought
best. She left the room, wreathed in smiles.

As the door closed, Dorian put the key in his pocket and looked round
the room. His eye fell on a large, purple satin coverlet heavily


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