Kitabı oku: «Портрет Дориана Грея / The Picture of Dorian Gray», sayfa 9

“It is. That is the reason why, like Eve²⁸, they are so excessively anxious to get out of it²⁹,” said Lord Henry. “Good-bye, Uncle George. Thanks for giving me the information I wanted. I always like to know everything about my new friends, and nothing about my old ones.”

“Where are you lunching, Harry?”

“At Aunt Agatha’s. I have asked myself and Mr. Gray. He is her latest protege.”

“Tell your Aunt Agatha, Harry, not to bother me any more with her charity appeals³⁰. I am sick of them. Why, the good woman thinks that I have nothing to do but to write cheques for her.”

Lord Henry went out. It was a sad and romantic story. Now Harry was even more interested in Dorian Gray. Dorian Gray… How charming he had been at dinner the night before! Talking to him was like playing upon an exquisite violin. What a pity it was that such beauty was destined to fade³¹!

Lord Henry smiled. Yes; he would try to dominate Dorian Gray – had already, indeed, half done so. There was something fascinating in this son of Love and Death.

Suddenly he stopped and glanced up at the houses. He found that he had passed his aunt’s some distance, and, smiling to himself, turned back.

“Late as usual, Harry,” cried his aunt, shaking her head at him.

His neighbour was Mrs. Vandeleur³², one of his aunt’s oldest friends. Lord Henry began to talk. He felt that the eyes of Dorian Gray were fixed on him. He charmed his listeners, everybody listened to Harry. But Harry was not talking to everybody. He was talking to Dorian. Sometimes Dorian smiled, sometimes his eyes were wide open with surprise. Dorian listened to everything. Dorian Gray never took his gaze off him, but sat like one under a spell³³.

Dorian Gray spent every day of the next three weeks with Lord Henry. They had lunch together and went to parties. And Dorian was influenced by Lord Henry more and more. When Dorian was alone, he was always looking for pleasurable things to do.

Chapter 4

One afternoon, a month later, Dorian Gray was sitting in a luxurious arm-chair, in the little library of Lord Henry’s house in Mayfair³⁴. Lord Henry had not yet come in. He was always late, Dorian Gray was bored and once or twice he thought of going away.

At last he heard a step outside and the door opened. “How late you are, Harry!” he said. “I’m afraid it is not Harry, Mr. Gray. It is only his wife.”

He looked around quickly and got to his feet. “I am sorry, I thought —”

“I know you quite well by your photographs, I think my husband has got seventeen of them.”

“Not seventeen, Lady Henry?”

“Well, eighteen, then. And I saw you with him the other night at the theatre. But here is Harry!”

Lord Henry smiled at them both. “So sorry I am late, Dorian.”

“I am afraid I must go,” said Lady Henry. “Goodbye, Mr. Gray. Goodbye, Harry. You are eating out, I suppose? I am too. Perhaps I will see you later.”

“Perhaps, my dear,” said Lord Henry, shutting the door behind her. Then he lit a cigarette and threw himself down on the sofa.