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Lord
Henry
had
not
yet
come
in
.
He
was
always
late
on
principle
,
his
principle
being
that
punctuality
is
the
thief
of
time
.
So
the
lad
was
looking
rather
sulky
,
as
with
listless
fingers
he
turned
over
the
pages
of
an
elaborately-illustrated
edition
of
"
Manon
Lescaut
"
that
he
had
found
in
one
of
the
bookcases
.
The
formal
monotonous
ticking
of
the
Louis
Quatorze
clock
annoyed
him
.
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
murmured
.
"
I
am
afraid
it
is
not
Harry
,
Mr.
Gray
,
"
answered
a
shrill
voice
.
He
glanced
quickly
round
,
and
rose
to
his
feet
.
"
I
beg
your
pardon
.
I
thought
--
--
"
"
You
thought
it
was
my
husband
.
It
is
only
his
wife
.
You
must
let
me
introduce
myself
.
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
Opera
.
"
She
laughed
nervously
as
she
spoke
,
and
watched
him
with
her
vague
forget-me-not
eyes
.
She
was
a
curious
woman
,
whose
dresses
always
looked
as
if
they
had
been
designed
in
a
rage
and
put
on
in
a
tempest
.
She
was
usually
in
love
with
somebody
,
and
,
as
her
passion
was
never
returned
,
she
had
kept
all
her
illusions
.
She
tried
to
look
picturesque
,
but
only
succeeded
in
being
untidy
.
Her
name
was
Victoria
,
and
she
had
a
perfect
mania
for
going
to
church
.
"
That
was
at
'
'
Lohengrin
,
'
Lady
Henry
,
I
think
?
"
"
Yes
;
it
was
at
dear
'
'
Lohengrin
.
'
I
like
Wagner
's
music
better
than
anybody
's
.
It
is
so
loud
that
one
can
talk
the
whole
time
without
other
people
hearing
what
one
says
.
That
is
a
great
advantage
:
do
n't
you
think
so
,
Mr.
Gray
?
"
The
same
nervous
staccato
laugh
broke
from
her
thin
lips
,
and
her
fingers
began
to
play
with
a
long
tortoise-shell
paper-knife
.
