Chapter 6I suppose you have heard the news, Basil?" said Lord Henry that evening as Hallward was shown into a little private room at the Bristol where dinner had been id for three."No, Harry," answered the artist, giving his hat and coat to the bowing waiter. "What is it? Nothing about politics, I hope! They dont i me. There is hardly a single person in the House of ons worth painting, though many of them would be the better for a little whitewashing.""Dorian Gray is eo be married," said Lord Henry, watg him as he spoke.Hallward started and then frowned. "Dorian eo be married!" he cried. "Impossible!""It is perfectly true.""To whom?""To some little actress or other.""I t believe it. Dorian is far too sensible.""Dorian is far too wise not to do foolish things now and then, my dear Basil.""Marriage is hardly a thing that one do now and then, Harry.""Except in America," rejoined Lord Henry nguidly. "But I didnt say he was married. I said he was eo be married. There is a great difference. I have a distinct remembrance of being married, but I have no recolle at all of being engaged. I am ined to think that I never was engaged.""But think of Dorians birth, and position, ah. It would be absurd for him to marry so much beh him.""If you want to make him marry this girl, tell him that, Basil. He is sure to do it, then. Whenever a man does a thhly stupid thing, it is always from the motives.""I hope the girl is good, Harry. I dont want to see Doriao some vile creature, who might degrade his nature and ruin his intellect.""Oh, she is better than good--she is beautiful," murmured Lord Henry, sipping a gss of vermouth and e-bitters. "Dorian says she is beautiful, and he is not often wrong about things of that kind. Your portrait of him has quied his appreciation of the personal appearance of other people. It has had that excellent effect, amongst others. We are to see her to-night, if that boy doesnt fet his appoi.""Are you serious?""Quite serious, Basil. I should be miserable if I thought I should ever be more serious than I am at the present moment.""But do you approve of it, Harry?" asked the painter, walking up and down the room and biting his lip. "You t approve of it, possibly. It is some silly infatuation.""I never approve, or disapprove, of anything now. It is an absurd attitude to take towards life. We are not sent into the world to air our moral prejudices. I ake any notice of what on people say, and I never interfere with what charming people do. If a personality fasates me, whatever mode of expression that personality selects is absolutely delightful to me. Dorian Gray falls in love with a beautiful girl who acts Juliet, and proposes to marry her. Why not? If he wedded Messalina, he would be he less iing. You know I am not a champion of marriage. The real drawbaarriage is that it makes one unselfish. And unselfish people are colourless. They dividuality. Still, there are certain temperaments that marriage makes more plex. They retain their egotism, and add to it many os. They are forced to have more than one life. They beore highly anized, and to be highly anized is, I should fancy, the objeaence. Besides, every experience is of value, and whatever one may say against marriage, it is certainly an experience. I hope that Dorian Gray will make this girl his wife, passionately adore her for six months, and then suddenly bee fasated by some one else. He would be a wonderful study.""You dont mean a single word of all that, Harry; you know you dont. If Dorian Grays life were spoiled, no one would be sorrier than yourself. You are much better than you pretend to be."Lord Henry ughed. "The reason we all like to think so well of others is that we are all afraid for ourselves. The basis of optimism is sheer terror. We think that we are generous because we credit our neighbour with the possession of those virtues that are likely to be a be to us. We praise the bahat we may overdraw our at, and find good qualities in the highwayman in the hope that he may spare our pockets. I meahing that I have said. I have the greatest pt for optimism. As for a spoiled life, no life is spoiled but one whose growth is arrested. If you want to mar a nature, you have merely to reform it. As for marriage, of course that would be silly, but there are other and more iing bonds between men and women. I will certainly ence them. They have the charm of being fashionable. But here is Dorian himself. He will tell you more than I .""My dear Harry, my dear Basil, you must both gratute me!" said the d, throwing off his evening cape with its satin-lined wings and shaking each of his friends by the hand in turn. "I have never been so happy. Of course, it is sudden-- all really delightful things are. A seems to me to be the ohing I have been looking for all my life." He was flushed with excitement and pleasure, and looked extraordinarily handsome."I hope you will always be very happy, Dorian," said Hallward, "but I dont quite five you for not havi me know of yagement. You let Harry know.""And I dont five you for being te for dinner," broke in Lord Henry, putting his hand on the ds shoulder and smiling as he spoke. "e, let us sit down and try what the new chef here is like, and then you will tell us how it all came about.""There is really not much to tell," cried Dorian as they took their seats at the small round table. "What happened was simply this. After I left you yesterday evening, Harry, I dressed, had some di that little Italiaaurant in Rupert Street you introduced me to, a down at eight oclock to the theatre. Sibyl ying Rosalind. Of course, the sery was dreadful and the Orndo absurd. But Sibyl! You should have seen her! When she came on in her boys clothes, she erfectly wonderful. She wore a moss-coloured velvet jerkin with amon sleeves, slim, brown, cross-gartered hose, a dainty little green cap with a hawks feather caught in a jewel, and a hooded cloak lined with dull red. She had never seemed to me more exquisite. She had all the delicate grace of that Tanagra figurihat you have in your studio, Basil. Her hair clustered round her face like dark leaves round a pale rose. As for her ag--well, you shall see her to-night. She is simply a born artist. I sat in the dingy box absolutely enthralled. I fot that I was in London and in the eenth tury. I was away with my love in a forest that no man had ever seen. After the performance was over, I went behind and spoke to her. As we were sitting together, suddenly there came into her eyes a look that I had never seen there before. My lips moved towards hers. We kissed each other. I t describe to you what I felt at that moment. It seemed to me that all my life had been narrowed to one perfect point of rose-coloured joy. She trembled all over and shook like a white narcissus. Then she flung herself on her knees and kissed my hands. I feel that I should not tell you all this, but I t help it. Of course, agement is a dead secret. She has not even told her own mother. I dont know what my guardians will say. Lord Radley is sure to be furious. I dont care. I shall be of age ihan a year, and then I do what I like. I have been right, Basil, havent I, to take my love out of poetry and to find my wife in Shakespeares pys? Lips that Shakespeare taught to speak have whispered their secret in my ear. I have had the arms of Rosalind around me, and kissed Juliet on the mouth.""Yes, Dorian, I suppose you were right," said Hallward slowly."Have you seeo-day?" asked Lord Henry.Dorian Gray shook his head. "I left her in the forest of Arden; I shall find her in an orchard in Verona."Lord Henry sipped his champagne in a meditative manner. "At articur point did you mention the word marriage, Dorian? And what did she say in answer? Perhaps you fot all about it.""My dear Harry, I did not treat it as a busiransa, and I did not make any formal proposal. I told her that I loved her, and she said she was not worthy to be my wife. Not worthy! Why, the whole world is nothing to me pared with her.""Women are wonderfully practical," murmured Lord Henry, "much more practical than we are. In situations of that kien fet to say anything about marriage, and they always remind us."Hallward id his hand upon his arm. "Dont, Harry. You have annoyed Dorian. He is not like other men. He would never bring misery upon any one. His nature is too fine for that."Lord Henry looked across the table. "Dorian is never annoyed with me," be answered. "I asked the question for the best reason possible, for the only reason, ihat excuses one for asking any question-- simple curiosity. I have a theory that it is always the women who propose to us, and not we who propose to the women. Except, of course, in middle-css life. But then the middle csses are not modern."Dorian Gray ughed, and tossed his head. "You are quite incible, Harry; but I dont mind. It is impossible to be angry with you. When you see Sibyl Vane, you will feel that the man who could wrong her would be a beast, a beast without a heart. I ot uand how any one wish to shame the thing he loves. I love Sibyl Vane. I want to pce her on a pedestal of gold and to see the world worship the woman who is mine. What is marriage? An irrevocable vow. You mock at it for that. Ah! dont mock. It is an irrevocable vow that I want to take. Her trust makes me faithful, her belief makes me good. When I am with her, I regret all that you have taught me. I bee different from what you have knowo be. I am ged, and the mere touch of Sibyl Vanes hand makes me fet you and all your wrong, fasating, poisonous, delightful theories.""And those are ... ?" asked Lord Henry, helping himself to some sad."Oh, your theories about life, your theories about love, your theories about pleasure. All your theories, in fact, Harry.""Pleasure is the only thing worth having a theory about," he answered in his slow melodious voice. "But I am afraid I ot cim my theory as my own. It belongs to Nature, not to me. Pleasure is Natures test, her sign of approval. When we are happy, we are always good, but when we are good, we are not always happy.""Ah! but what do you mean by good?" cried Basil Hallward."Yes," echoed Dorian, leaning ba his chair and looking at Lord Henry over the heavy clusters of purple-lipped irises that stood in the tre of the table, "what do you mean by good, Harry?""To be good is to be in harmony with ones self," he replied, toug the thin stem of his gss with his pale, fine-pointed fingers. "Discord is to be forced to be in harmony with others. Ones own life--that is the important thing. As for the lives of ones neighbours, if one wishes to be a prig or a Puritan, one funt ones moral views about them, but they are not ones . Besides, individualism has really the higher aim. Modern morality sists in accepting the standard of ones age. I sider that for any man of culture to accept the standard of his age is a form of the grossest immorality.""But, surely, if one lives merely for ones self, Harry, one pays a terrible price for doing so?" suggested the painter."Yes, we are overcharged for everything nowadays. I should fancy that the real tragedy of the poor is that they afford nothing but self-denial. Beautiful sins, like beautiful things, are the privilege of the rich.""One has to pay in other ways but money.""What sort of ways, Basil?""Oh! I should fan remorse, in suffering, in . . . well, in the sciousness of degradation."Lord Henry shrugged his shoulders. "My dear fellow, mediaeval art is charming, but mediaeval emotions are out of date. One use them in fi, of course. But then the only things that one use in fi are the things that one has ceased to use in fact. Believe me, no civilized man ever regrets a pleasure, and no uncivilized man ever knows what a pleasure is.""I knoleasure is," cried Dorian Gray. "It is to adore some one.""That is certainly better than being adored," he answered, toying with some fruits. "Being adored is a nuisance. Wome us just as humanity treats its gods. They worship us, and are always b us to do something for them.""I should have said that whatever they ask for they had first given to us," murmured the d gravely. "They create love in our natures. They have a right to demand it back.""That is quite true, Dorian," cried Hallward."Nothing is ever quite true," said Lord Henry."This is," interrupted Dorian. "You must admit, Harry, that women give to men the very gold of their lives.""Possibly," he sighed, "but they invariably want it ba such very small ge. That is the worry. Women, as some witty Fren o it, inspire us with the desire to do masterpieces and alrevent us from carrying them out.""Harry, you are dreadful! I dont know why I like you so much.""You will always like me, Dorian," he replied. "Will you have some coffee, you fellows? Waiter, bring coffee, and fine-champagne, and some cigarettes. No, dont mind the cigarettes--I have some. Basil, I t allow you to smoke cigars. You must have a cigarette. A cigarette is the perfect type of a perfect pleasure. It is exquisite, and it leaves one unsatisfied. What more one want? Yes, Dorian, you will always be fond of me. I represent to you all the sins you have never had the ce to it.""What nonsense you talk, Harry!" cried the d, taking a light from a fire-breathing silver dragon that the waiter had pced oable. "Let us go down to the theatre. When Sibyl es oage you will have a new ideal of life. She will represent something to you that you have never known.""I have knowhing," said Lord Henry, with a tired look in his eyes, "but I am always ready for a ion. I am afraid, however, that, for me at any rate, there is no such thing. Still, your wonderful girl may thrill me. I love ag. It is so much more real than life. Let us go. Dorian, you will e with me. I am so sorry, Basil, but there is only room for two in the brougham. You must follow us in a hansom."They got up and put on their coats, sipping their coffee standing. The painter was silent and preoccupied. There was a gloom over him. He could not bear this marriage, a seemed to him to be better than many other things that might have happened. After a few mihey all passed downstairs. He drove off by himself, as had been arranged, and watched the fshing lights of the little brougham in front of him. A strange sense of loss came over him. He felt that Dorian Gray would never agaio him all that he had been in the past. Life had e between them.... His eyes darkened, and the crowded fring streets became blurred to his eyes. When the cab drew up at the theatre, it seemed to him that he had grown years older.