Chapter 15That evening, at eight-thirty, exquisitely dressed and wearing a rge button-hole of Parma violets, Dorian Gray was ushered into Lady Narbhs drawing-room by bowing servants. His forehead was throbbing with maddened nerves, and he felt wildly excited, but his manner as he bent over his hostesss hand was as easy and graceful as ever. Perhaps one never seems so much at ones ease as when one has to py a part. Certainly no one looking at Dorian Gray that night could have believed that he had passed through a tragedy as horrible as any tragedy of e. Those finely shaped fingers could never have clutched a knife for sin, nor those smiling lips have cried out on God and goodness. He himself could not help w at the calm of his demeanour, and for a mome keenly the terrible pleasure of a double life.It was a small party, got up rather in a hurry by Lady Narbh, who was a very clever woman with what Lord Henry used to describe as the remains of really remarkable ugliness. She had proved an excellent wife to one of our most tedious ambassadors, and having buried her husband properly in a marble mausoleum, which she had herself designed, and married off her daughters to some rich, rather elderly men, she devoted herself now to the pleasures of French fi, French cookery, and French esprit when she could get it.Dorian was one of her especial favourites, and she always told him that she was extremely gd she had not met him in early life. "I know, my dear, I should have fallen madly in love with you," she used to say, "and thrown my bo right over the mills for your sake. It is most fortuhat you were not thought of at the time. As it was, our bos were so unbeing, and the mills were so occupied in trying to raise the wind, that I never had even a flirtation with anybody. However, that was all Narbhs fault. He was dreadfully short-sighted, and there is no pleasure in taking in a husband who never sees anything."Her guests this evening were rather tedious. The fact was, as she expio Dorian, behind a very shabby fan, one of her married daughters had e up quite suddenly to stay with her, and, to make matters worse, had actually brought her husband with her. "I think it is most unkind of her, my dear," she whispered. "Of course I go and stay with them every summer after I e from H, but then an old woman like me must have fresh air sometimes, and besides, I really wake them up. You dont know what aehey lead down there. It is pure unadulterated try life. They get up early, because they have so much to do, and go to bed early, because they have so little to think about. There has not been a sdal in the neighbourhood sihe time of Queen Elizabeth, and sequently they all fall asleep after dinner. You shant sit either of them. You shall sit by me and amuse me."Dorian murmured a graceful pliment and looked round the room. Yes: it was certainly a tedious party. Two of the people he had never seen before, and the others sisted of Er Harrowden, one of those middle-aged mediocrities so on in London clubs who have no enemies, but are thhly disliked by their friends; Lady Ruxton, an overdressed woman of forty-seven, with a hooked nose, who was always trying to get herself promised, but was so peculiarly pin that treat disappoi no one would ever believe anything against her; Mrs. Erlynne, a pushing nobody, with a delightful lisp aian-red hair; Lady Alice Chapman, his hostesss daughter, a dowdy dull girl, with one of those characteristic British faces that, once seen, are never remembered; and her husband, a red-cheeked, white-whiskered creature who, like so many of his css, was uhe impression that inordinate joviality atone for aire ck of ideas.He was rather sorry he had e, till Lady Narbh, looking at the great ormolu gilt clock that sprawled in gaudy curves on the mauve-draped mantelshelf, excimed: "How horrid of Henry Wotton to be so te! I sent round to him this m on d he promised faithfully not to disappoint me."It was some sotion that Harry was to be there, and when the door opened and he heard his slow musical voice lending charm to some insincere apology, he ceased to feel bored.But at dinner he could anything. Pte after pte went away untasted. Lady Narbh kept scolding him for what she called "an insult to poor Adolphe, who ied the menu specially for you," and now and then Lord Henry looked across at him, w at his silend abstracted manner. From time to time the butler filled his gss with champagne. He drank eagerly, and his thirst seemed to increase."Dorian," said Lord Henry at st, as the chaud-froid was being handed round, "what is the matter with you to-night? You are quite out of sorts.""I believe he is in love," cried Lady Narbh, and that he is afraid to tell me for fear I should be jealous. He is quite right. I certainly should.""Dear Lady Narbh," murmured Dorian, smiling, "I have not been in love for a whole week--not, in fact, since Madame de Ferrol left town.""How you men fall in love with that woman!" excimed the old dy. "I really ot uand it.""It is simply because she remembers you when you were a little girl, Lady Narbh," said Lord Henry. "She is the one liween us and your short frocks.""She does not remember my short frocks at all, Lord Henry. But I remember her very well at Vienna thirty years ago, and how décolletée she was then.""She is still décolletée," he answered, taking an olive in his long fingers; "and when she is in a very smart gown she looks like an édition de luxe of a bad Frenovel. She is really wonderful, and full of surprises. Her capacity for family affe is extraordinary. Whehird husband died, her hair turned quite gold from grief.""How you, Harry!" cried Dorian."It is a most romantic expnation," ughed the hostess. "But her third husband, Lord Henry! You doo say Ferrol is the fourth?""Certainly, Lady Narbh.""I dont believe a word of it.""Well, ask Mr. Gray. He is one of her most intimate friends.""Is it true, Mr. Gray?""She assures me so, Lady Narbh," said Dorian. "I asked her whether, like Marguerite de Navarre, she had their hearts embalmed and hung at her girdle. She told me she didnt, because none of them had had as at all.""Four husbands! Upon my word that is trop de zèle.""Trop daudace, I tell her," said Dorian."Oh! she is audacious enough for anything, my dear. And what is Ferrol like? I dont know him.""The husbands of very beautiful women belong to the criminal csses," said Lord Henry, sipping his wine.Lady Narbh hit him with her fan. "Lord Henry, I am not at all surprised that the world says that you are extremely wicked.""But what world says that?" asked Lord Henry, elevating his eyebrows. "It only be the world. This world and I are on excellent terms.""Everybody I know says you are very wicked," cried the old dy, shaking her head.Lord Henry looked serious for some moments. "It is perfectly monstrous," he said, at st, "the eople go about nowadays saying things against one behind ones back that are absolutely airely true.""Isnt he incible?" cried Dorian, leaning forward in his chair."I hope so," said his hostess, ughing. "But really, if you all worship Madame de Ferrol in this ridiculous way, I shall have to marry again so as to be in the fashion.""You will never marry again, Lady Narbh," broke in Lord Henry. "You were far too happy. When a woman marries again, it is because she detested her first husband. When a man marries again, it is because he adored his first wife. Women try their luck; men risk theirs.""Narbh wasnt perfect," cried the old dy."If he had been, you would not have loved him, my dear dy," was the rejoinder. "Women love us for our defects. If we have enough of them, they will five us everything, even our intellects. You will never ask me to dinner again after saying this, I am afraid, Lady Narbh, but it is quite true.""Of course it is true, Lord Henry. If we women did not love you for your defects, where would you all be? Not one of you would ever be married. You would be a set of unfortunate bachelors. Not, however, that that would alter you muowadays all the married men live like bachelors, and all the bachelors like married men.""Fin de siècle," murmured Lord Henry."Fin du globe," answered his hostess."I wish it were fin du globe," said Dorian with a sigh. "Life is a great disappoi.""Ah, my dear," cried Lady Narbh, putting on her gloves, "dont tell me that you have exhausted life. When a man says that one knows that life has exhausted him. Lord Henry is very wicked, and I sometimes wish that I had been; but you are made to be good-- you look so good. I must find you a nice wife. Lord Henry, dont you think that Mr. Gray should get married?""I am always telling him so, Lady Narbh," said Lord Henry with a bow."Well, we must look out for a suitable match for him. I shall gh Debrett carefully to-night and draw out a list of all the eligible young dies.""With their ages, Lady Narbh?" asked Dorian."Of course, with their ages, slightly edited. But nothing must be done in a hurry. I want it to be what The M Post calls a suitable alliance, and I want you both to be happy.""What nonsense people talk about happy marriages!" excimed Lord Henry. "A man be happy with any woman, as long as he does not love her.""Ah! what a ic you are!" cried the old dy, pushing back her chair and nodding to Lady Ruxton. "You must e and dih me soon again. You are really an admirable tonic, much better than what Sir Andrew prescribes for me. You must tell me eople you would like to meet, though. I want it to be a delightful gathering.""I like men who have a future and women who have a past," he answered. "Or do you think that would make it a petticoat party?""I fear so," she said, ughing, as she stood up. "A thousand pardons, my dear Lady Ruxton," she added, "I didnt see you hadnt finished yarette.""Never mind, Lady Narbh. I smoke a great deal too much. I am going to limit myself, for the future.""Pray dont, Lady Ruxton," said Lord Henry. "Moderation is a fatal thing. Enough is as bad as a meal. More than enough is as good as a feast."Lady Ruxton g him curiously. "You must e and expin that to me some afternoon, Lord Henry. It sounds a fasating theory," she murmured, as she swept out of the room."Now, mind you dont stay too long over your politid sdal," cried Lady Narbh from the door. "If you do, we are sure to squabble upstairs."The men ughed, and Mr. Chapman got up solemnly from the foot of the table and came up to the top. Dorian Gray ged his seat a and sat by Lord Henry. Mr. Chapman began to talk in a loud voice about the situation in the House of ons. He guffawed at his adversaries. The word doaire--word full of terror to the British mind-- reappeared from time to time between his explosions. An alliterative prefix served as an or of oratory. He hoisted the Union Ja the pinnacles of thought. The ied stupidity of the race--sound English on sense he jovially termed it--was shown to be the proper bulwark for society.A smile curved Lord Henrys lips, aurned round and looked at Dorian."Are you better, my dear fellow?" he asked. "You seemed rather out of sorts at dinner.""I am quite well, Harry. I am tired. That is all.""You were charming st night. The little duchess is quite devoted to you. She tells me she is going down to Selby.""She has promised to e oweh.""Is Monmouth to be there, too?""Oh, yes, Harry.""He bores me dreadfully, almost as much as he bores her. She is very clever, too clever for a woman. She cks the indefinable charm of weakness. It is the feet of cy that make the gold of the image precious. Her feet are very pretty, but they are not feet of cy. White por feet, if you like. They have been through the fire, and what fire does not destroy, it hardens. She has had experiences.""How long has she been married?" asked Dorian."Ay, she tells me. I believe, acc to the peerage, it is ten years, but ten years with Monmouth must have been like eternity, with time thrown in. Who else is ing?""Oh, the Willoughbys, Lby and his wife, our hostess, Geoffrey Clouston, the usual set. I have asked Lrotrian.""I like him," said Lord Henry. "A great many people dont, but I find him charming. He atones for being occasionally somewhat overdressed by being always absolutely over-educated. He is a very modern type.""I dont know if he will be able to e, Harry. He may have to go to Monte Carlo with his father.""Ah! what a nuisance peoples people are! Try and make him e. By the way, Dorian, you ran off very early st night. You left before eleven. What did you do afterwards? Did you ght home?"Dorian g him hurriedly and frowned."No, Harry," he said at st, "I did not get home till nearly three.""Did you go to the club?""Yes," he answered. The his lip. "No, I dohat. I didnt go to the club. I walked about. I fet what I did. . . . How inquisitive you are, Harry! You always want to know what one has been doing. I always want tet what I have been doing. I came in at half-past two, if you wish to know the exact time. I had left my tch-key at home, and my servant had to let me in. If you want any corroborative eviden the subject, you ask him."Lord Henry shrugged his shoulders. "My dear fellow, as if I cared! Let us go up to the drawing-room. No sherry, thank you, Mr. Chapman. Something has happeo you, Dorian. Tell me what it is. You are not yourself to-night.""Dont mind me, Harry. I am irritable, and out of temper. I shall e round and see you to-morrow, or day. Make my excuses to Lady Narbh. I shant go upstairs. I shall go home. I must go home.""All right, Dorian. I dare say I shall see you to-morrow at tea-time. The duchess is ing.""I will try to be there, Harry," he said, leaving the room. As he drove back to his own house, he was scious that the sense of terror he thought he had strangled had e ba. Lord Henrys casual questioning had made him lose his nerves for the moment, and he wanted his ill. Things that were dangerous had to be destroyed. He winced. He hated the idea of even toug them.Yet it had to be done. He realized that, and when he had locked the door of his library, he opehe secret press into which he had thrust Basil Hallwards coat and bag. A huge fire was bzing. He piled an on it. The smell of the singeing clothes and burniher was horrible. It took him three-quarters of an hour to e everything. At the end he felt faint and sick, and having lit some Algerian pastilles in a pierced copper brazier, he bathed his hands and forehead with a usk-sted vinegar.Suddenly he started. His eyes grew strangely bright, and he gnawed nervously at his underlip. Between two of the windows stood a rge Florentine et, made out of ebony and inid with ivory and blue pis. He watched it as though it were a thing that could fasate and make afraid, as though it held something that he longed for a almost loathed. His breath quied. A mad craving came over him. He lit a cigarette and then threw it away. His eyelids drooped till the long fringed shes almost touched his cheek. But he still watched the et. At st he got up from the sofa on which he had been lying, went over to it, and having unlocked it, touched some hidden spring. A triangur drawer passed slowly out. His fingers moved instinctively towards it, dipped in, and closed on something. It was a small ese box of bd gold-dust cquer, eborately wrought, the sides patterned with curved waves, and the silken cords hung with round crystals and tasselled in pited metal threads. He ope. Inside was a green paste, waxy in lustre, the odour curiously heavy and persistent.He hesitated for some moments, with a strangely immobile smile upon his face. Then shivering, though the atmosphere of the room was terribly hot, he drew himself up and g the clock. It was twenty mio twelve. He put the box back, shutting the et doors as he did so, a into his bedroom.As midnight was striking bronze blows upon the dusky air, Dorian Gray, dressed only, and with a muffler ed round his throat, crept quietly out of his house. In Bond Street he found a hansom with a good horse. He hailed it and in a low voice gave the driver an address.The man shook his head. "It is too far for me," he muttered."Here is a sn for you," said Dorian. "You shall have another if you drive fast.""All right, sir," answered the man, "you will be there in an hour," and after his fare had got iurned his horse round and drove rapidly towards the river.