“Yes, Dorian, I suppose you were right,” said Hallward, slowly.

“Have you seen her to-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 what particular point did you mention the word marriage, Dorian? and what did she say in answer?  Perhaps you forgot all about it.”

“My dear Harry, I did not treat it as a business transaction, 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 compared to her.”

“Women are wonderfully practical,” murmured Lord Henry,—­“much more practical than we are.  In situations of that kind we often forget to say anything about marriage, and they always remind us.”

[35] Hallward laid his hand upon his arm.  “Don’t, 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,” he answered.  “I asked the question for the best reason possible, for the only reason, indeed, that 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-class life.  But then the middle classes are not modern.”

Dorian Gray laughed, and tossed his head.  “You are quite incorrigible, Harry; but I don’t 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 without a heart.  I cannot understand how any one can wish to shame what he loves.  I love Sibyl Vane.  I wish to place her on a pedestal of gold, and to see the world worship the woman who is mine.  What is marriage?  An irrevocable vow.  And 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 become different from what you have known me to be.  I am changed, and the mere touch of Sibyl Vane’s hand makes me forget you and all your wrong, fascinating, poisonous, delightful theories.”

“You will always like me, Dorian,” said Lord Henry.  “Will you have some coffee, you fellows?—­Waiter, bring coffee, and fine-champagne, and some cigarettes.  No:  don’t mind the cigarettes; I have some.—­ Basil, I can’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 can you want?—­ Yes, Dorian, you will always be fond of me.  I represent to you all the sins you have never had the courage to commit.”

“What nonsense you talk, Harry!” cried Dorian Gray, lighting his cigarette from a fire-breathing silver dragon that the waiter had placed on the table.  “Let us go down to the theatre.  When you see Sibyl you will have a new ideal of life.  She will represent something to you that you have never known.”