“Ah! that is very nice, and very wrong of you,”
she cried; “so mind you come”; and she
swept out of the room, followed by Lady Agatha and
the other ladies.
When Lord Henry had sat down again, Mr. Erskine moved
round, and taking a chair close to him, placed his
hand upon his arm.
“You talk books away,” he said; “why
don’t you write one?”
“I am too fond of reading books to care to write
them, Mr. Erskine. I should like to write a novel
certainly, a novel that would be as lovely as a Persian
carpet and as unreal. But there is no literary
public in England for anything except newspapers,
primers, and encyclopaedias. Of all people in
the world the English have the least sense of the beauty
of literature.”
“I fear you are right,” answered Mr. Erskine.
“I myself used to have literary ambitions,
but I gave them up long ago. And now, my dear
young friend, if you will allow me to call you so,
may I ask if you really meant all that you said to
us at lunch?”
“I quite forget what I said,” smiled Lord
Henry. “Was it all very bad?”
“Very bad indeed. In fact I consider you
extremely dangerous, and if anything happens to our
good duchess, we shall all look on you as being primarily
responsible. But I should like to talk to you
about life. The generation into which I was born
was tedious. Some day, when you are tired of
London, come down to Treadley and expound to me your
philosophy of pleasure over some admirable Burgundy
I am fortunate enough to possess.”
“I shall be charmed. A visit to Treadley
would be a great privilege. It has a perfect
host, and a perfect library.”
“You will complete it,” answered the old
gentleman with a courteous bow. “And now
I must bid good-bye to your excellent aunt. I
am due at the Athenaeum. It is the hour when
we sleep there.”
“All of you, Mr. Erskine?”
“Forty of us, in forty arm-chairs. We are
practising for an English Academy of Letters.”
Lord Henry laughed and rose. “I am going
to the park,” he cried.
As he was passing out of the door, Dorian Gray touched
him on the arm. “Let me come with you,”
he murmured.
“But I thought you had promised Basil Hallward
to go and see him,” answered Lord Henry.
“I would sooner come with you; yes, I feel I
must come with you. Do let me. And you
will promise to talk to me all the time? No one
talks so wonderfully as you do.”
“Ah! I have talked quite enough for to-day,”
said Lord Henry, smiling. “All I want now
is to look at life. You may come and look at
it with me, if you care to.”
