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"And weep over a faithless Florizel," said Lord Henry, laughing,

as he leaned back in his chair. "My dear Dorian, you have the

most curiously boyish moods. Do you think this girl will ever be

really content now with any one of her own rank? I suppose she

will be married some day to a rough carter or a grinning

ploughman. Well, the fact of having met you, and loved you, will

teach her to despise her husband, and she will be wretched. From

a moral point of view, I cannot say that I think much of your

great renunciation. Even as a beginning, it is poor. Besides, how

do you know that Hetty isn't floating at the present moment in

some starlit mill-pond, with lovely water-lilies round her, like

Ophelia?"