iselled nostrils quivered, and some
hidden nerve shook the scarlet of his lips and left them trembling.

"Yes," continued Lord Henry, "that is one of the great secrets of
life--to cure the soul by means of the senses, and the senses by means
of the soul. You are a wonderful creation. You know more than you
think you know, just as you know less than you want to know."

Dorian Gray frowned and turned his head away. He could not help liking
the tall, graceful young man who was standing by him. His romantic,
olive-coloured face and worn expression interested him. There was
something in his low languid voice that was absolutely fascinating.
His cool, white, flowerlike hands, even, had a curious charm. They
moved, as he spoke, like music, and seemed to have a language of their
own. But he felt afraid of him, and ashamed of being afraid. Why had
it been left for a stranger to reveal him to himself? He had known
Basil Hallward for months, but the friendship between them had never
altered him. Suddenly there had come some one across his life who
seemed to have disclosed to him life's mystery. And, yet, what was
there to be afraid of? He was not a schoolboy or a girl. It was
absurd to be frightened.

"Let us go and sit in the shade," said Lord Henry. "Parker has brought
out the drinks, and if you stay any longer in this glare, you will be
quite spoiled, and Basil will never paint you again. You really must
not allow yourself to become sunburnt. It would be unbecoming."

"What can it matter?" cried Dorian Gray, laughing, as he sat down on
the seat at the end of the garden.

"It should matter everything to you, Mr. Gray."

"Why?"

"Because you have the most marvellous youth, and youth is the one thing
worth having."

"I don't feel that, Lord Henry."

"No, you don't feel it now. Some day, when you are old and wrinkled
and ugly, when thought has seared your forehead with its lines, and
passion branded your lips with its hideous fires, you will feel it, you
will feel it terribly. Now, wherever you go, you charm the world.
Will it always be so? ... You have a wonderfully beautiful face, Mr.
Gray. Don't frown. You have. And beauty is a form of genius--is
higher, indeed, than genius, as it needs no explanation. It is of the
great facts of the world, like sunlight, or spring-time, or the
reflection in dark waters of that silver shell we call the moon. It
cannot be questioned. It has its divine right of s