Hallward felt strangely moved.  Rugged and straightforward as he was, there was something in his nature that was purely feminine in its tenderness.  The lad was infinitely dear to him, and his personality had been the great turning-point in his art.  He could not bear the idea of reproaching him any more.  After all, his indifference was probably merely a mood that would pass away.  There was so much in him that was good, so much in him that was noble.

“Well, Dorian,” he said, at length, with a sad smile, “I won’t speak to you again about this horrible thing, after to-day.  I only trust your name won’t be mentioned in connection with it.  The inquest is to take place this afternoon.  Have they summoned you?”

Dorian shook his head, and a look of annoyance passed over his face at the mention of the word “inquest.”  There was something so [55] crude and vulgar about everything of the kind.  “They don’t know my name,” he answered.

“But surely she did?”

“Only my Christian name, and that I am quite sure she never mentioned to any one.  She told me once that they were all rather curious to learn who I was, and that she invariably told them my name was Prince Charming.  It was pretty of her.  You must do me a drawing of her, Basil.  I should like to have something more of her than the memory of a few kisses and some broken pathetic words.”

“I will try and do something, Dorian, if it would please you.  But you must come and sit to me yourself again.  I can’t get on without you.”

“I will never sit to you again, Basil.  It is impossible!” he exclaimed, starting back.

Hallward stared at him, “My dear boy, what nonsense!” he cried.  “Do you mean to say you don’t like what I did of you?  Where is it?  Why have you pulled the screen in front of it?  Let me look at it.  It is the best thing I have ever painted.  Do take that screen away, Dorian.  It is simply horrid of your servant hiding my work like that.  I felt the room looked different as I came in.”

“My servant has nothing to do with it, Basil.  You don’t imagine I let him arrange my room for me?  He settles my flowers for me sometimes,—­that is all.  No; I did it myself.  The light was too strong on the portrait.”

“Too strong!  Impossible, my dear fellow!  It is an admirable place for it.  Let me see it.”  And Hallward walked towards the corner of the room.

A cry of terror broke from Dorian Gray’s lips, and he rushed between Hallward and the screen.  “Basil,” he said, looking very pale, “you must not look at it.  I don’t wish you to.”

“Not look at my own work! you are not serious.  Why shouldn’t I look at it?” exclaimed Hallward, laughing.

“If you try to look at it, Basil, on my word of honor I will never speak to you again as long as I live.  I am quite serious.  I don’t offer any explanation, and you are not to ask for any.  But, remember, if you touch this screen, everything is over between us.”