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- Портрет Дориана Грея
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Dorian
smiled
,
and
shook
his
head
:
"
I
am
afraid
I
do
n't
think
so
,
Lady
Henry
.
I
never
talk
during
music
,
at
least
,
during
good
music
.
If
one
hears
bad
music
,
it
is
one
's
duty
to
drown
it
in
conversation
.
"
"
Ah
!
that
is
one
of
Harry
's
views
,
is
n't
it
,
Mr.
Gray
?
I
always
hear
Harry
's
views
from
his
friends
.
It
is
the
only
way
I
get
to
know
of
them
.
But
you
must
not
think
I
do
n't
like
good
music
.
I
adore
it
,
but
I
am
afraid
of
it
.
It
makes
me
too
romantic
.
I
have
simply
worshipped
pianists
--
two
at
a
time
,
sometimes
,
Harry
tells
me
.
I
do
n't
know
what
it
is
about
them
.
Perhaps
it
is
that
they
are
foreigners
.
They
all
are
,
ai
n't
they
?
Even
those
that
are
born
in
England
become
foreigners
after
a
time
,
do
n't
they
?
It
is
so
clever
of
them
,
and
such
a
compliment
to
art
.
Makes
it
quite
cosmopolitan
,
does
n't
it
?
You
have
never
been
to
any
of
my
parties
,
have
you
,
Mr.
Gray
?
You
must
come
.
I
ca
n't
afford
orchids
,
but
I
spare
no
expense
in
foreigners
.
They
make
one
's
rooms
look
so
picturesque
.
But
here
is
Harry
!
--
Harry
,
I
came
in
to
look
for
you
,
to
ask
you
something
--
I
forget
what
it
was
--
and
I
found
Mr.
Gray
here
.
We
have
had
such
a
pleasant
chat
about
music
.
We
have
quite
the
same
ideas
.
No
;
I
think
our
ideas
are
quite
different
.
But
he
has
been
most
pleasant
.
I
am
so
glad
I
've
seen
him
.
"
"
I
am
charmed
,
my
love
,
quite
charmed
,
"
said
Lord
Henry
,
elevating
his
dark
crescent-shaped
eyebrows
and
looking
at
them
both
with
an
amused
smile
.
"
So
sorry
I
am
late
,
Dorian
.
I
went
to
look
after
a
piece
of
old
brocade
in
Wardour
Street
,
and
had
to
bargain
for
hours
for
it
.
Nowadays
people
know
the
price
of
everything
,
and
the
value
of
nothing
.
"
"
I
am
afraid
I
must
be
going
,
"
exclaimed
Lady
Henry
,
breaking
an
awkward
silence
with
her
silly
sudden
laugh
.
"
I
have
promised
to
drive
with
the
Duchess
.
Good-bye
,
Mr.
Gray
.
Good-bye
,
Harry
.
You
are
dining
out
,
I
suppose
?
So
am
I.
Perhaps
I
shall
see
you
at
Lady
Thornbury
's
.
"
"
I
daresay
,
my
dear
,
"
said
Lord
Henry
,
shutting
the
door
behind
her
,
as
,
looking
like
a
bird
of
paradise
that
had
been
out
all
night
in
the
rain
,
she
flitted
out
of
the
room
,
leaving
a
faint
odour
of
frangipanni
.
Then
he
lit
a
cigarette
,
and
flung
himself
down
on
the
sofa
.
"
Never
marry
a
woman
with
straw-coloured
hair
,
Dorian
,
"
he
said
,
after
a
few
puffs
.
"
Why
,
Harry
?
"
"
Because
they
are
so
sentimental
.
"
"
But
I
like
sentimental
people
.
"
