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the mantelshelf, and through the small leaded panes of the
“Well, eighteen, then. And I saw you with him the other
window streamed the apricot-coloured light of a summer
night at the opera.” She laughed nervously as she spoke, and
day in London.
watched him with her vague forget-me-not eyes. She was a
Lord Henry had not yet come in. He was always late on
curious woman, whose dresses always looked as if they had
principle, his principle being that punctuality is the thief of
been designed in a rage and put on in a tempest. She was
time. So the lad was looking rather sulky, as with listless fin-
usually in love with somebody, and, as her passion was never
gers he turned over the pages of an elaborately illustrated
returned, she had kept all her illusions. She tried to look
42
Oscar Wilde
picturesque, but only succeeded in being untidy. Her name
they? Even those that are born in England become foreign-
was Victoria, and she had a perfect mania for going to church.
ers after a time, don’t they? It is so clever of them, and such a
“That was at Lohengrin, Lady Henry, I think?”
compliment to art. Makes it quite cosmopolitan, doesn’t it?
“Yes; it was at dear Lohengrin. I like Wagner’s music better
You have never been to any of my parties, have you, Mr.
than anybody’s. It is so loud that one can talk the whole time
Gray? You must come. I can’t afford orchids, but I share no
without other people hearing what one says. That is a great
expense in foreigners. They make one’s rooms look so pic-
advantage, don’t you think so, Mr. Gray?”
turesque. But here is Harry! Harry, I came in to look for
The same nervous staccato laugh broke from her thin lips,
you, to ask you something—I forget what it was—and I
and her fingers began to play with a long tortoise-shell pa-
found Mr. Gray here. We have had such a pleasant chat about
per-knife.
music. We have quite the same ideas. No; I think our ideas
Dorian smiled and shook his head: “I am afraid I don’t
are quite different. But he has been most pleasant. I am so
think so, Lady Henry. I never talk during music—at least,
glad I’ve seen him.”
during good music. If one hears bad music, it is one’s duty to
“I am charmed, my love, quite charmed,” said Lord Henry,
drown it in conversation.”
elevating his dark, crescent-shaped eyebrows and looking at
“Ah! that is one of Harry’s views, isn’t it, Mr. Gray? I al-
them both with an amused smile. “So sorry I am late, Dorian.
ways hear Harry’s views from his friends. It is the only way I
I went to look after a piece of old brocade in Wardour Street
get to know of them. But you must not think I don’t like
and had to bargain for hours for it. Nowadays people know
good music. I adore it, but I am afraid of it. It makes me too
the price of everything and the value of nothing.”
romantic. I have simply worshipped pianists—two at a time,
“I am afraid I must be going,” exclaimed Lady Henry,
sometimes, Harry tells me. I don’t know what it is about
breaking an awkward silence with her silly sudden laugh. “I
them. Perhaps it is that they are foreigners. They all are, ain’t
have promised to drive with the duchess. Good-bye, Mr. Gray.
43
The Picture of Dorian Gray
Good-bye, Harry. You are dining out, I suppose? So am I.
Lord Henry shrugged his shoulders. “That is a rather com-
Perhaps I shall see you at Lady Thornbury’s.”
monplace debut.”
“I dare say, my dear,” said Lord Henry, shutting the door
“You would not say so if you saw her, Harry.”
behind her as, looking like a bird of paradise that had been
“Who is she?”
out all night in the rain, she flitted out of the room, leaving
“Her name is Sibyl Vane.”
a faint odour of frangipanni. Then he lit a cigarette and flung
“Never heard of her.”
himself down on the sofa.
“No one has. People will some day, however. She is a ge-
“Never marry a woman with straw-coloured hair, Dorian,”
nius.”
he said after a few puffs.
“My dear boy, no woman is a genius. Women are a decora-
“Why, Harry?”
tive sex. They never have anything to say, but they say it charm-
“Because they are so sentimental.”
ingly. Women represent the triumph of matter over mind, just
“But I like sentimental people.”
as men represent the triumph of mind over morals.”
“Never marry at all, Dorian. Men marry because they are
“Harry, how can you?”
tired; women, because they are curious: both are disap-
“My dear Dorian, it is quite true. I am analysing women at
pointed.”
present, so I ought to know. The subject is not so abstruse as
“I don’t think I am likely to marry, Harry. I am too much
I thought it was. I find that, ultimately, there are only two
in love. That is one of your aphorisms. I am putting it into
kinds of women, the plain and the coloured. The plain
practice, as I do everything that you say.”
women are very useful. If you want to gain a reputation for
“Who are you in love with?” asked Lord Henry after a
respectability, you have merely to take them down to supper.
pause.
The other women are very charming. They commit one mis-
“With an actress,” said Dorian Gray, blushing.
take, however. They paint in order to try and look young.
44
Our grandmothers painted in order to try and talk brilliantly.
Rouge and esprit used to go together. That is all over now.
As long as a woman can look ten years younger than her
own daughter, she is perfectly satisfied. As for conversation,
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