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Dorian Gray drew a long breath. The colour came back to his

cheeks, and a smile played about his lips. The peril was over. He

was safe for the time. Yet he could not help feeling infinite

pity for the painter who had just made this strange confession to

him, and wondered if he himself would ever be so dominated by the

personality of a friend. Lord Henry had the charm of being very

dangerous. But that was all. He was too clever and too cynical to

be really fond of. Would there ever be some one who would fill

him with a strange idolatry? Was that one of the things that life

had in store?

"It is extraordinary to me, Dorian," said Hallward, "that you

should have seen this in the portrait. Did you really see it?"

"I saw something in it," he answered, "something that seemed to

me very curious."

"Well, you don't mind my looking at the thing now?"

Dorian shook his head. "You must not ask me that, Basil. I could

not possibly let you stand in front of that picture."

"You will some day, surely?"