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Dorian Gray
By Oscar Wilde (1890)
I suppose you have heard the news, Basil?’ said Lord Hen-
ry on the following evening, as Hallward was shown
into a little private room at the Bristol where dinner had
been laid for three.
‘No, Harry,’ answered Hallward, 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 turned perfectly pale, and a curious look
flashed for a moment into his eyes, and then passed away,
leaving them dull.’ 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,’ said Hallward, smiling.
‘Except in America. But I didn’t say he was married. I
I t was long past noon when he awoke. His valet had crept
several times into the room on tiptoe to see if he was stir-
ring, and had wondered what made his young master sleep
so late. Finally his bell sounded, and Victor came in softly
with a cup of tea, and a pile of letters, on a small tray of
old Sèvres china, and drew back the olive-satin curtains,
with their shimmering blue lining, that hung in front of the
three tall windows.
‘Monsieur has well slept this morning,’ he said, smiling.
‘What o’clock is it, Victor?’ asked Dorian Gray, sleepily.
‘One hour and a quarter, monsieur.’
How late it was! He sat up, and, having sipped some tea,
turned over his letters. One of them was from Lord Henry,
and had been brought by hand that morning. He hesitated
for a moment, and then put it aside. The others he opened
listlessly. They contained the usual collection of cards, in-
vitations to dinner, tickets for private views, programmes
of charity concerts, and the like, that are showered on fash-
ionable young men every morning during the season. There
was a rather heavy bill, for a chased silver Louis-Quinze toi-
let-set, that he had not yet had the courage to send on to his
guardians, who were extremely old-fashioned people and
did not realize that we live in an age when only unnecessary
things are absolutely necessary to us; and there were sever-