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"No," said Dorian Gray, "there is nothing fearful about it. It is

one of the great romantic tragedies of the age. As a rule, people

who act lead the most commonplace lives. They are good husbands,

or faithful wives, or something tedious. You know what I

mean-middle-class virtue and all that kind of thing. How

different Sibyl was! She lived her finest tragedy. She was always

a heroine. The last night she played-the night you saw her-she

acted badly because she had known the reality of love. When she

knew its unreality, she died, as Juliet might have died. She

passed again into the sphere of art. There is something of the

martyr about her. Her death has all the pathetic uselessness of

martyrdom, all its wasted beauty. But, as I was saying, you must

not think I have not suffered. If you had come in yesterday at a

particular moment-about half-past five, perhaps, or a quarter to

six-you would have found me in tears.