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ogy. It has nothing to do with our own will. Young men
“You won’t forget?”
want to be faithful, and are not; old men want to be faith-
“No, of course not,” cried Dorian.
less, and cannot: that is all one can say.”
“And … Harry!”
“Don’t go to the theatre to-night, Dorian,” said Hallward.
“Yes, Basil?”
“Stop and dine with me.”
“Remember what I asked you, when we were in the gar-
“I can’t, Basil.”
den this morning.”
29
CHAPTER 3
“Come, Mr. Gray, my hansom is outside, and I can drop
AT HALF-PAST TWELVE next day Lord Henry Wotton strolled
you at your own place. Good-bye, Basil. It has been a most
from Curzon Street over to the Albany to call on his uncle,
interesting afternoon.”
Lord Fermor, a genial if somewhat rough-mannered old bach-
As the door closed behind them, the painter flung himself
elor, whom the outside world called selfish because it de-
down on a sofa, and a look of pain came into his face.
rived no particular benefit from him, but who was consid-
ered generous by Society as he fed the people who amused
him. His father had been our ambassador at Madrid when
Isabella was young and Prim unthought of, but had retired
from the diplomatic service in a capricious moment of an-
noyance on not being offered the Embassy at Paris, a post to
which he considered that he was fully entitled by reason of
his birth, his indolence, the good English of his dispatches,
and his inordinate passion for pleasure. The son, who had
been his father’s secretary, had resigned along with his chief,
somewhat foolishly as was thought at the time, and on suc-
ceeding some months later to the title, had set himself to the
serious study of the great aristocratic art of doing absolutely
nothing. He had two large town houses, but preferred to live
30
The Picture of Dorian Gray
“I have forgotten it.”
“I trust you.”
“I wish I could trust myself,” said Lord Henry, laughing.
Oscar Wilde
in chambers as it was less trouble, and took most of his meals
“Money, I suppose,” said Lord Fermor, making a wry face.
at his club. He paid some attention to the management of
“Well, sit down and tell me all about it. Young people, nowa-
his collieries in the Midland counties, excusing himself for
days, imagine that money is everything.”
this taint of industry on the ground that the one advantage
“Yes,” murmured Lord Henry, settling his button-hole in
of having coal was that it enabled a gentleman to afford the
his coat; “and when they grow older they know it. But I
decency of burning wood on his own hearth. In politics he
don’t want money. It is only people who pay their bills who
was a Tory, except when the Tories were in office, during
want that, Uncle George, and I never pay mine. Credit is the
which period he roundly abused them for being a pack of
capital of a younger son, and one lives charmingly upon it.
Radicals. He was a hero to his valet, who bullied him, and a
Besides, I always deal with Dartmoor’s tradesmen, and con-
terror to most of his relations, whom he bullied in turn. Only
sequently they never bother me. What I want is informa-
England could have produced him, and he always said that
tion: not useful information, of course; useless information.”
the country was going to the dogs. His principles were out
“Well, I can tell you anything that is in an English Blue
of date, but there was a good deal to be said for his preju-
Book, Harry, although those fellows nowadays write a lot of
dices.
nonsense. When I was in the Diplomatic, things were much
When Lord Henry entered the room, he found his uncle
better. But I hear they let them in now by examination. What
sitting in a rough shooting-coat, smoking a cheroot and grum-
can you expect? Examinations, sir, are pure humbug from
bling over The Times. “Well, Harry,” said the old gentle-
beginning to end. If a man is a gentleman, he knows quite
man, “what brings you out so early? I thought you dandies
enough, and if he is not a gentleman, whatever he knows is
never got up till two, and were not visible till five.”
bad for him.”
“Pure family affection, I assure you, Uncle George. I want
“Mr. Dorian Gray does not belong to Blue Books, Uncle
to get something out of you.”
George,” said Lord Henry languidly.
31
The Picture of Dorian Gray
“Mr. Dorian Gray? Who is he?” asked Lord Fermor, knit-
he had been a pigeon. The thing was hushed up, but, egad,
ting his bushy white eyebrows.
Kelso ate his chop alone at the club for some time after-
“That is what I have come to learn, Uncle George. Or
wards. He brought his daughter back with him, I was told,
rather, I know who he is. He is the last Lord Kelso’s grand-
and she never spoke to him again. Oh, yes; it was a bad
son. His mother was a Devereux, Lady Margaret Devereaux.
business. The girl died, too, died within a year. So she left a
I want you to tell me about his mother. What was she like?
son, did she? I had forgotten that. What sort of boy is he? If
Whom did she marry? You have known nearly everybody in
he is like his mother, he must be a good-looking chap.”
your time, so you might have known her. I am very much
“He is very good-looking,” assented Lord Henry.
interested in Mr. Gray at present. I have only just met him.”
“I hope he will fall into proper hands,” continued the old
“Kelso’s grandson!” echoed the old gentleman. “Kelso’s
man. “He should have a pot of money waiting for him if
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