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.
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 to tell the house-keeper
that he wanted to see her, and then to go to the frame-maker
and ask him to send two of his men round at once.
It seemed to him that as the man left the room his
eyes wandered in the direction of the screen.
Or was that merely his own fancy?
After a few moments, in her black silk dress, with
old-fashioned thread mittens on her wrinkled hands,
Mrs. Leaf bustled into the library. He asked
her for the key of the schoolroom.
“The old schoolroom, Mr. Dorian?” she
exclaimed. “Why, it is full of dust.
I must get it arranged and put straight before you
go into it. It is not fit for you to see, sir.
It is not, indeed.”
“I don’t want it put straight, Leaf.
I only want the key.”
“Well, sir, you’ll be covered with cobwebs
if you go into it. Why, it hasn’t been
opened for nearly five years—not since his
lordship died.”
He winced at the mention of his grandfather.
He had hateful memories of him. “That
does not matter,” he answered. “I
simply want to see the place— that is all.
Give me the key.”
“And here is the key, sir,” said the old
lady, going over the contents of her bunch with tremulously
uncertain hands. “Here is the key.
I’ll have it off the bunch in a moment.
But you don’t think of living up there, sir,
and you so comfortable here?”
“No, no,” he cried petulantly. “Thank
you, Leaf. That will do.”
She lingered for a few moments, and was garrulous
over some detail of the household. He sighed
and told her to manage things as she thought best.
She left the room, wreathed in smiles.
