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He
held
the
door
open
for
them
,
and
they
passed
out
into
the
hall
and
began
the
ascent
.
The
elaborate
character
of
the
frame
had
made
the
picture
extremely
bulky
,
and
now
and
then
,
in
spite
of
the
obsequious
protests
of
Mr.
Hubbard
,
who
had
the
true
tradesman
's
spirited
dislike
of
seeing
a
gentleman
doing
anything
useful
,
Dorian
put
his
hand
to
it
so
as
to
help
them
.
"
Something
of
a
load
to
carry
,
sir
,
"
gasped
the
little
man
,
when
they
reached
the
top
landing
.
And
he
wiped
his
shiny
forehead
.
"
I
am
afraid
it
is
rather
heavy
,
"
murmured
Dorian
,
as
he
unlocked
the
door
that
opened
into
the
room
that
was
to
keep
for
him
the
curious
secret
of
his
life
and
hide
his
soul
from
the
eyes
of
men
.
He
had
not
entered
the
place
for
more
than
four
years
--
not
,
indeed
,
since
he
had
used
it
first
as
a
play-room
when
he
was
a
child
,
and
then
as
a
study
when
he
grew
somewhat
older
.
It
was
a
large
,
well-proportioned
room
,
which
had
been
specially
built
by
the
last
Lord
Kelso
for
the
use
of
the
little
grandson
whom
,
for
his
strange
likeness
to
his
mother
,
and
also
for
other
reasons
,
he
had
always
hated
and
desired
to
keep
at
a
distance
.
It
appeared
to
Dorian
to
have
but
little
changed
.
There
was
the
huge
Italian
cassone
,
with
its
fantastically-painted
panels
and
its
tarnished
gilt
mouldings
,
in
which
he
had
so
often
hidden
himself
as
a
boy
.
There
the
satinwood
bookcase
filled
with
his
dog-eared
schoolbooks
.
On
the
wall
behind
it
was
hanging
the
same
ragged
Flemish
tapestry
,
where
a
faded
king
and
queen
were
playing
chess
in
a
garden
,
while
a
company
of
hawkers
rode
by
,
carrying
hooded
birds
on
their
gauntleted
wrists
.
How
well
he
remembered
it
all
!
Every
moment
of
his
lonely
childhood
came
back
to
him
as
he
looked
round
.
He
recalled
the
stainless
purity
of
his
boyish
life
,
and
it
seemed
horrible
to
him
that
it
was
here
the
fatal
portrait
was
to
be
hidden
away
.
How
little
he
had
thought
,
in
those
dead
days
,
of
all
that
was
in
store
for
him
!
But
there
was
no
other
place
in
the
house
so
secure
from
prying
eyes
as
this
.
He
had
the
key
,
and
no
one
else
could
enter
it
.
Beneath
its
purple
pall
,
the
face
painted
on
the
canvas
could
grow
bestial
,
sodden
,
and
unclean
.
What
did
it
matter
?
No
one
could
see
it
.
He
himself
would
not
see
it
.
Why
should
he
watch
the
hideous
corruption
of
his
soul
?
He
kept
his
youth
--
that
was
enough
.
And
,
besides
,
might
not
his
nature
grow
finer
,
after
all
?
There
was
no
reason
that
the
future
should
be
so
full
of
shame
.
Some
love
might
come
across
his
life
,
and
purify
him
,
and
shield
him
from
those
sins
that
seemed
to
be
already
stirring
in
spirit
and
in
flesh
--
those
curious
unpictured
sins
whose
very
mystery
lent
them
their
subtlety
and
their
charm
.
Perhaps
,
some
day
,
the
cruel
look
would
have
passed
away
from
the
scarlet
sensitive
mouth
,
and
he
might
show
to
the
world
Basil
Hallward
's
masterpiece
.
No
;
that
was
impossible
.
Hour
by
hour
,
and
week
by
week
,
the
thing
upon
the
canvas
was
growing
old
.
It
might
escape
the
hideousness
of
sin
,
but
the
hideousness
of
age
was
in
store
for
it
.
The
cheeks
would
become
hollow
or
flaccid
.
Yellow
crow
's
-
feet
would
creep
round
the
fading
eyes
and
make
them
horrible
.
The
hair
would
lose
its
brightness
,
the
mouth
would
gape
or
droop
,
would
be
foolish
or
gross
,
as
the
mouths
of
old
men
are
.
There
would
be
the
wrinkled
throat
,
the
cold
,
blue-veined
hands
,
the
twisted
body
,
that
he
remembered
in
the
grandfather
who
had
been
so
stern
to
him
in
his
boyhood
.
The
picture
had
to
be
concealed
.
There
was
no
help
for
it
.
"
Bring
it
in
,
Mr.
Hubbard
,
please
,
"
he
said
,
wearily
,
turning
round
.
"
I
am
sorry
I
kept
you
so
long
.
I
was
thinking
of
something
else
.
"
"
Always
glad
to
have
a
rest
,
Mr.
Gray
,
"
answered
the
frame-maker
,
who
was
still
gasping
for
breath
.
"
Where
shall
we
put
it
,
sir
?
"
