Madame de Ferrol in this ridiculous way, I shall have to marry again so
as to be in the fashion."

"You will never marry again, Lady Narborough," broke in Lord Henry. "You
were far too happy. When a woman marries again, it is because she
detested her first husband. When a man marries again, it is because he
adored his first wife. Women try their luck; men risk theirs."

"Narborough wasn't perfect," cried the old lady.

"If he had been, you would not have loved him, my dear lady," was the
rejoinder. "Women love us for our defects. If we have enough of them,
they will forgive us everything, even our intellects. You will never ask
me to dinner again after saying this, I am afraid, Lady Narborough, but
it is quite true."

"Of course it is true, Lord Henry. If we women did not love you for your
defects, where would you all be? Not one of you would ever be married.
You would be a set of unfortunate bachelors. Not, however, that that
would alter you much. Nowadays all the married men live like bachelors,
and all the bachelors like married men."

"Fin de siecle," murmured Lord Henry.

"Fin du globe," answered his hostess.

"I wish it were fin du globe," said Dorian with a sigh. "Life is a great
disappointment."

"Ah, my dear," cried Lady Narborough, putting on her gloves, "don't tell
me that you have exhausted life. When a man says that one knows that
life has exhausted him. Lord Henry is very wicked, and I sometimes wish
that I had been; but you are made to be good-- you look so good. I must
find you a nice wife. Lord Henry, don't you think that Mr. Gray should
get married?"

"I am always telling him so, Lady Narborough," said Lord Henry with a bow.

"Well, we must look out for a suitable match for him. I shall go through
Debrett carefully to-night and draw out a list of all the eligible young
ladies."

"With their ages, Lady Narborough?" asked Dorian.

"Of course, with their ages, slightly edited. But nothing must be done
in a hurry. I want it to be what The Morning Post calls a suitable
alliance, and I want you both to be happy."

"What nonsense people talk about happy marriages!" exclaimed Lord Henry.
"A man can be happy with any woman, as long as he does not love her."

"Ah! what a cynic you are!" cried the old lady, pushing back her chair
and nodding to Lady Ruxton. "You must come and dine with me soon again.
You are really an admirable tonic, much better than what Sir Andrew
prescribes for me. You must tell me what people you would like to meet,
though. I want it to be a delightful gathering."

"I like men who have a future and women who have a past," he answered.
"Or do you think that would make it a petticoat party?"

"I fear so," she said, laughing, as she stood up. "A thousand pardons,
my dear Lady Ruxton," she added, "I didn't see you hadn't finished your
cigarette."

"Never mind, Lady Narborough. I smoke a great deal too much. I am going
to limit myself, for the future."

"Pray don't, Lady Ruxton," said Lord Henry. "Moderation is a fatal
thing. Enough is as bad as a meal. More than enough is as good as a feast."

Lady Ruxton glanced at him curiously. "You must come and explain that to
me some afternoon, Lord Henry. It sounds a fascinating theory," she
murmured, as she swept out of the room.

"Now, mind you don't stay too long over your politics and scandal,"
cried Lady Narborough from the door. "If you do, we are sure to squabble
upstairs."

The men laughed, and Mr. Chapman got up solemnly from the foot of the
table and came up to the top. Dorian Gray changed his seat and went and
sat by Lord Henry. Mr. Chapman began to talk in a loud voice about the
situation in the House of Commons. He guffawed at his adversaries. The
word doctrinaire--word full of terror to the British mind-- reappeared
from time to time between his explosions. An alliterative prefix served
as an ornament of oratory. He hoisted the Union Jack on the pinnacles of
thought. The inherited stupidity of the race--sound English common sense
he jovially termed it--was shown to be the proper bulwark for society.

A smile curved Lord Henry's lips, and he turned round and looked at Dorian.

"Are you better, my dear fellow?" he asked. "You seemed rather out of
sorts at dinner."

"I am quite well, Harry. I am tired. That is all."

"You were charming last night. The little duchess is quite devoted to
you. She tells me she is going down to Selby."

"She has promised to come on the twentieth."



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