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"It is an annoying subject," broke in Lord Henry. "It has no

psychological value at all. Now if Geoffrey had done the thing on

purpose, how interesting he would be! I should like to know some

one who had committed a real murder."

"How horrid of you, Harry!" cried the duchess. "Isn't it, Mr.

Gray? Harry, Mr. Gray is ill again. He is going to faint."

Dorian drew himself up with an effort and smiled. "It is nothing,

Duchess," he murmured; "my nerves are dreadfully out of order.

That is all. I am afraid I walked too far this morning. I didn't

hear what Harry said. Was it very bad? You must tell me some

other time. I think I must go and lie down. You will excuse me,

won't you?"

They had reached the great flight of steps that led from the

conservatory on to the terrace. As the glass door closed behind

Dorian, Lord Henry turned and looked at the duchess with his

slumberous eyes. "Are you very much in love with him?" he asked.