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“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.”
“Except in America,” rejoined Lord Henry languidly. “But I didn’t say he was married. I said he was engaged to be married. There is a great difference. I have a distinct remembrance of being married, but I have no recollection at all of being engaged. I am inclined to think that I never was engaged.”
“But think of Dorian’s birth, and position, and wealth. It would be absurd for him to marry so much beneath him.”
“If you want to make him marry this girl, tell him that, Basil. He is sure to do it, then. Whenever a man does a thoroughly stupid thing, it is always from the noblest motives.”
“I hope the girl is good, Harry. I don’t want to see Dorian tied to some vile creature, who might degrade his nature and ruin his intellect.”
“Oh, she is better than good—she is beautiful,” murmured Lord Henry, sipping a glass of vermouth and orange-bitters. “Dorian says she is beautiful, and he is not often wrong about things of that kind. Your portrait of him has quickened his appreciation of the personal appearance of other people. It has had that excellent effect, amongst others. We are to see her to-night, if that boy doesn’t forget his appointment.”
“Are you serious?”
“Quite serious, Basil. I should be miserable if I thought I should ever be more serious than I am at the present moment.”
“But do you approve of it, Harry?” asked the painter, walking up and down the room and biting his lip. “You can’t approve of it, possibly. It is some silly infatuation.”
“I never approve, or disapprove, of anything now. It is an absurd attitude to take towards life. We are not sent into the world to air our moral prejudices. I never take any notice of what common people say, and I never interfere with what charming people do. If a personality fascinates me, whatever mode of expression that personality selects is absolutely delightful to me. Dorian Gray falls in love with a beautiful girl who acts Juliet, and proposes to marry her. Why not? If he wedded Messalina, he would be none the less interesting. You know I am not a champion of marriage. The real drawback to marriage is that it makes one unselfish. And unselfish people are colourless. They lack individuality. Still, there are certain temperaments that marriage makes more complex. They retain their egotism, and add to it many other egos. They are forced to have more than one life. They become more highly organised, and to be highly organised is, I should fancy, the object of man’s existence. Besides, every experience is of value, and whatever one may say against marriage, it is certainly an experience. I hope that Dorian Gray will make this girl his wife, passionately adore her for six months, and then suddenly become fascinated by some one else. He would be a wonderful study.”
“You don’t mean a single word of all that, Harry; you know you don’t. If Dorian Gray’s life were spoiled, no one would be sorrier than yourself. You are much better than you pretend to be.”
Lord Henry laughed. “The reason we all like to think so well of others is that we are all afraid for ourselves. The basis of optimism is sheer terror. We think that we are generous because we credit our neighbour with the possession of those virtues that are likely to be a benefit to us. We praise the banker that we may overdraw our account, and find good qualities in the highwayman in the hope that he may spare our pockets. I mean everything that I have said. I have the greatest contempt for optimism. As for a spoiled life, no life is spoiled but one whose growth is arrested. If you want to mar a nature, you have merely to reform it. As for marriage, of course that would be silly, but there are other and more interesting bonds between men and women. I will certainly encourage them. They have the charm of being fashionable. But here is Dorian himself. He will tell you more than I can.”
“My dear Harry, my dear Basil, you must both congratulate me!” said the lad, throwing off his evening cape with its satin-lined wings and shaking each of his friends by the hand in turn. “I have never been so happy. Of course, it is sudden—all really delightful things are. And yet it seems to me to be the one thing I have been looking for all my life.” He was flushed with excitement and pleasure, and looked extraordinarily handsome.
“I hope you will always be very happy, Dorian,” said Hallward, “but I don’t quite forgive you for not having let me know of your engagement. You let Harry know.”
“And I don’t forgive you for being late for di
“There is really not much to tell,” cried Dorian as they took their seats at the small round table. “What happened was simply this. After I left you yesterday evening, Harry, I dressed, had some di
“Yes, Dorian, I suppose you were right,” said Hallward slowly.
“Have you seen her to-day?” asked Lord Henry.
Dorian Gray shook his head. “I left her in the forest of Arden; I shall find her in an orchard in Verona.”
Lord Henry sipped his champagne in a meditative ma
“My dear Harry, I did not treat it as a business transaction, and I did not make any formal proposal. I told her that I loved her, and she said she was not worthy to be my wife. Not worthy! Why, the whole world is nothing to me compared with her.”
“Women are wonderfully practical,” murmured Lord Henry, “much more practical than we are. In situations of that kind we often forget to say anything about marriage, and they always remind us.”