n the
picture, did you? There was nothing else to see?"

"No; there was nothing else to see. Why do you ask? But you mustn't talk
about worship. It is foolish. You and I are friends, Basil, and we must
always remain so."

"You have got Harry," said the painter, sadly.

"Oh, Harry!" cried the lad, with a ripple of laughter. "Harry spends his
days in saying what is incredible, and his evenings in doing what is
improbable. Just the sort of life I would like to lead. But still I
don't think I would go to Harry if I were in trouble. I would sooner go
to you, Basil."

"You will sit to me again?"

"Impossible!"

"You spoil my life as an artist by refusing, Dorian. No man came across
two ideal things. Few come across one."

"I can't explain it to you, Basil, but I must never sit to you again.
There is something fatal about a portrait. It has a life of its own. I
will come and have tea with you. That will be just as pleasant."

"Pleasanter for you, I am afraid," murmured Hallward, regretfully. "And
now good-bye. I am sorry you won't let me look at the picture once
again. But that can't be helped. I quite understand what you feel about
it."

As he left the room, Dorian Gray smiled to himself. Poor Basil! how
little he knew of the true reason! And how strange it was that, instead
of having been forced to reveal his own secret, he had succeeded, almost
by chance, in wresting a secret from his friend! How much that strange
confession explained to him! The painter's absurd fits of jealousy, his
wild devotion, his extravagant panegyrics, his curious reticences--he
understood them all now, and he felt sorry. There seemed to him to be
something tragic in a friendship so coloured by romance.

He sighed, and touched the bell. The portrait must be hidden away at all
costs. He could not run such a risk of discovery again. It had been mad
of him to have allowed the thing to remain, even for an hour, in a room
to which any of his friends had access.

CHAPTER X

When his servant entered, he looked at him steadfastly, and wondered if
he had thought of peering behind the screen. The man was quite
impassive, and waited for his orders. Dorian lit a cigarette, and walked
over to the glass and glanced into it. He could see the reflection of
Victor's face perfectly. It was like a placid mask of servility. There
was nothing to be afraid of, there. Yet he thought it best to be on his
guard.

Speaking very slowly, he told him t