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In two or three minutes there was another knock, and Mr. Hubbard

himself, the celebrated frame-maker of South Audley Street, came

in with a somewhat rough-looking young assistant. Mr. Hubbard was

a florid, red-whiskered little man, whose admiration for art was

considerably tempered by the inveterate impecuniosity of most of

the artists who dealt with him. As a rule, he never left his

shop. He waited for people to come to him. But he always made an

exception in favour of Dorian Gray. There was something about

Dorian that charmed everybody. It was a pleasure even to see him.

"What can I do for you, Mr. Gray?" he said, rubbing his fat

freckled hands. "I thought I would do myself the honour of coming

round in person. I have just got a beauty of a frame, sir. Picked

it up at a sale. Old Florentine. Came from Fonthill, I believe.

Admirably suited for a religious subject, Mr. Gray."