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"
Harry
,
"
said
Basil
Hallward
,
looking
him
straight
in
the
face
,
"
every
portrait
that
is
painted
with
feeling
is
a
portrait
of
the
artist
,
not
of
the
sitter
.
The
sitter
is
merely
the
accident
,
the
occasion
.
It
is
not
he
who
is
revealed
by
the
painter
;
it
is
rather
the
painter
who
,
on
the
coloured
canvas
,
reveals
himself
.
The
reason
I
will
not
exhibit
this
picture
is
that
I
am
afraid
that
I
have
shown
in
it
the
secret
of
my
own
soul
.
"
Lord
Henry
laughed
.
"
And
what
is
that
?
"
he
asked
.
"
I
will
tell
you
,
"
said
Hallward
;
but
an
expression
of
perplexity
came
over
his
face
.
"
I
am
all
expectation
,
Basil
,
"
continued
his
companion
,
glancing
at
him
.
"
Oh
,
there
is
really
very
little
to
tell
,
Harry
,
"
answered
the
painter
;
"
and
I
am
afraid
you
will
hardly
understand
it
.
Perhaps
you
will
hardly
believe
it
.
"
Lord
Henry
smiled
,
and
,
leaning
down
,
plucked
a
pink-petalled
daisy
from
the
grass
,
and
examined
it
.
"
I
am
quite
sure
I
shall
understand
it
,
"
he
replied
,
gazing
intently
at
the
little
golden
white-feathered
disk
,
"
and
as
for
believing
things
,
I
can
believe
anything
,
provided
that
it
is
quite
incredible
.
"
The
wind
shook
some
blossoms
from
the
trees
,
and
the
heavy
lilac-blooms
,
with
their
clustering
stars
,
moved
to
and
fro
in
the
languid
air
.
A
grasshopper
began
to
chirrup
by
the
wall
,
and
like
a
blue
thread
a
long
thin
dragon-fly
floated
past
on
its
brown
gauze
wings
.
Lord
Henry
felt
as
if
he
could
hear
Basil
Hallward
's
heart
beating
,
and
wondered
what
was
coming
.
"
The
story
is
simply
this
,
"
said
the
painter
after
some
time
.
"
Two
months
ago
I
went
to
a
crush
at
Lady
Brandon
's
.
You
know
we
poor
artists
have
to
show
ourselves
in
society
from
time
to
time
,
just
to
remind
the
public
that
we
are
not
savages
.
With
an
evening
coat
and
a
white
tie
,
as
you
told
me
once
,
anybody
,
even
a
stockbroker
,
can
gain
a
reputation
for
being
civilised
.
Well
,
after
I
had
been
in
the
room
about
ten
minutes
,
talking
to
huge
over-dressed
dowagers
and
tedious
Academicians
,
I
suddenly
became
conscious
that
someone
was
looking
at
me
.
I
turned
halfway
round
,
and
saw
Dorian
Gray
for
the
first
time
.
When
our
eyes
met
,
I
felt
that
I
was
growing
pale
.
A
curious
sensation
of
terror
came
over
me
.
I
knew
that
I
had
come
face
to
face
with
someone
whose
mere
personality
was
so
fascinating
that
,
if
I
allowed
it
to
do
so
,
it
would
absorb
my
whole
nature
,
my
whole
soul
,
my
very
art
itself
.
I
did
not
want
any
external
influence
in
my
life
.
You
know
yourself
,
Harry
,
how
independent
I
am
by
nature
.
I
have
always
been
my
own
master
;
had
at
least
always
been
so
,
till
I
met
Dorian
Gray
.
Then
--
but
I
do
n't
know
how
to
explain
it
to
you
.
