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I want is information: not useful information, of course; useless information. Do you know Mr. Dorian Gray?”

      “Mr. Dorian Gray? Who is he?” asked Lord Fermor.

      “That is what I have come to learn[22], Uncle George. Or rather, I know who he is. He is the last Lord Kelso’s grandson[23]. His mother was a Devereux, Lady Margaret Devereux[24]. I want you to tell me about his mother. What was she like? Whom did she marry? I am very much interested in Mr. Gray at present. I have only just met him.”

      “Kelso’s grandson!” echoed the old gentleman. “Kelso’s grandson! Of course, I knew his mother intimately. She was a very beautiful girl, Margaret Devereux, but she married a penniless young fellow – a mere nobody[25], sir. Certainly I remember the whole thing as if it happened yesterday. Lady Margaret fell in love when she was very young. She ran away from home and married a soldier. But she did not have a happy life. The poor chap was killed in a duel, a few months after the marriage. Lord Kelso was very angry and never talked to Lady Margaret again. Dorian’s father, the soldier, was killed before Dorian was born. Lady Margaret died before Dorian was a year old. So Dorian was an orphan. So she left a son, did she? I had forgotten that. What sort of boy is he? If he is like his mother, he must be a good-looking boy.”

      “He is very good-looking,” said Lord Henry.

      “He should have a lot of money waiting for him. Dorian is going to be very rich. Soon Dorian would be twenty-one. Then he would have all Lord Kelso’s money,” continued the old man.

      “And… his mother was very beautiful?” asked Lord Henry.

      “Margaret Devereux was one of the loveliest creatures I ever saw, Harry. She could have married anybody she chose. She was romantic, though. By the way, Harry, talking about silly marriages, Dartmoor[26] wants to marry an American? Ain’t[27] English girls good enough for him?”

      “It is rather fashionable to marry Americans just now, Uncle George.”

      “Is she pretty?”

      “She behaves as if she was beautiful. Most American women do. It is the secret of their charm.”

      “Why can’t these American women stay in their own country? They are always telling us that it is the paradise for women.”

      “It is. That is the reason why, like Eve[28], they are so excessively anxious to get out of it[29],” said Lord Henry. “Good-bye, Uncle George. Thanks for giving me the information I wanted. I always like to know everything about my new friends, and nothing about my old ones.”

      “Where are you lunching, Harry?”

      “At Aunt Agatha’s. I have asked myself and Mr. Gray. He is her latest protege.”

      “Tell your Aunt Agatha, Harry, not to bother me any more with her charity appeals[30]. I am sick of them. Why, the good woman thinks that I have nothing to do but to write cheques for her.”

      Lord Henry went out. It was a sad and romantic story. Now Harry was even more interested in Dorian Gray. Dorian Gray… How charming he had been at dinner the night before! Talking to him was like playing upon an exquisite violin. What a pity it was that such beauty was destined to fade[31]!

      Lord Henry smiled. Yes; he would try to dominate Dorian Gray – had already, indeed, half done so. There was something fascinating in this son of Love and Death.

      Suddenly he stopped and glanced up at the houses. He found that he had passed his aunt’s some distance, and, smiling to himself, turned back.

      “Late as usual, Harry,” cried his aunt, shaking her head at him.

      His neighbour was Mrs. Vandeleur[32], one of his aunt’s oldest friends. Lord Henry began to talk. He felt that the eyes of Dorian Gray were fixed on him. He charmed his listeners, everybody listened to Harry. But Harry was not talking to everybody. He was talking to Dorian. Sometimes Dorian smiled, sometimes his eyes were wide open with surprise. Dorian listened to everything. Dorian Gray never took his gaze off him, but sat like one under a spell[33].

      Dorian Gray spent every day of the next three weeks with Lord Henry. They had lunch together and went to parties. And Dorian was influenced by Lord Henry more and more. When Dorian was alone, he was always looking for pleasurable things to do.

      Chapter 4

      One afternoon, a month later, Dorian Gray was sitting in a luxurious arm-chair, in the little library of Lord Henry’s house in Mayfair[34]. Lord Henry had not yet come in. He was always late, Dorian Gray was bored and once or twice he thought of going away.

      At last he heard a step outside and the door opened. “How late you are, Harry!” he said. “I’m afraid it is not Harry, Mr. Gray. It is only his wife.”

      He looked around quickly and got to his feet. “I am sorry, I thought —”

      “I know you quite well by your photographs, I think my husband has got seventeen of them.”

      “Not seventeen, Lady Henry?”

      “Well, eighteen, then. And I saw you with him the other night at the theatre. But here is Harry!”

      Lord Henry smiled at them both. “So sorry I am late, Dorian.”

      “I am afraid I must go,” said Lady Henry. “Goodbye, Mr. Gray. Goodbye, Harry. You are eating out, I suppose? I am too. Perhaps I will see you later.”

      “Perhaps, my dear,” said Lord Henry, shutting the door behind her. Then he lit a cigarette and threw himself down on the sofa.

      “Never marry a woman with straw-coloured hair, Dorian,” he said.

      “Why, Harry?”

      “Because they are so sentimental.”

      “But I like sentimental people.”

      “Never marry at all, Dorian. Men marry because they are tired; women, because they are curious: both are disappointed.”

      “I don’t think I will marry, Harry. I am too much in love. I’m in love with the most beautiful girl.”

      “Who are you in love with?” asked Lord Henry, after a pause.

      “With an actress,” said Dorian Gray. His face became red.

      “How ordinary.”

      “You would not say that if you saw her, Harry.”

      “Who is she?”

      “Her name is Sibyl Vane[35].”

      “I’ve never heard of her.”

      “No one has. People will some day, though. She is a genius.”

      “My dear boy, no woman is a genius. Women never have anything to say, but they say it charmingly.

      “Ah! Harry, your views terrify me.”

      “Never mind that. How long have you known her?”

      “About three weeks.”

      “And where did you meet her?”

      “I will tell you, Harry, but you must not laugh. You mustn’t laugh at me. I met her because of you.”

      “Because of me?”

      “Yes. You told me to find out about life. You told me to enjoy life – the good things and the evil things.

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