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1When his servant entered, he looked at him steadfastly and wondered if he had thought of peering behind the screen. The
2man was quite impassive and waited for his orders. Dorian lit a cigarette and walked over to the glass and glanced into
3it. He could see the reflection of Victor's face perfectly. It was like a placid mask of servility. There was nothing to
4be afraid of, there. Yet he thought it best to be on his guard. Speaking very slowly, he told him to tell the
5house-keeper that he wanted to see her, and then to go to the frame-maker and ask him to send two of his men round at
6once. It seemed to him that as the man left the room his eyes wandered in the direction of the screen. Or was that
7merely his own fancy? After a few moments, in her black silk dress, with old-fashioned thread mittens on her wrinkled
8hands, Mrs. Leaf bustled into the library. He asked her for the key of the schoolroom. "The old schoolroom, Mr. Dorian?"
9she exclaimed. "Why, it is full of dust. I must get it arranged and put straight before you go into it. It is not fit
10for you to see, sir. It is not, indeed." "I don't want it put straight, Leaf. I only want the key." "Well, sir, you'll
11be covered with cobwebs if you go into it. Why, it hasn't been opened for nearly five years--not since his lordship
12died." He winced at the mention of his grandfather. He had hateful memories of him. "That does not matter," he answered.
13"I simply want to see the place--that is all. Give me the key." "And here is the key, sir," said the old lady, going
14over the contents of her bunch with tremulously uncertain hands. "Here is the key. I'll have it off the bunch in a
15moment. But you don't think of living up there, sir, and you so comfortable here?" "No, no," he cried petulantly. "Thank
16you, Leaf. That will do." She lingered for a few moments, and was garrulous over some detail of the household. He sighed
17and told her to manage things as she thought best. She left the room, wreathed in smiles. As the door closed, Dorian put
18the key in his pocket and looked round the room. His eye fell on a large, purple satin coverlet heavily embroidered with
19gold, a splendid piece of late seventeenth-century Venetian work that his grandfather had found in a convent near
20Bologna. Yes, that would serve to wrap the dreadful thing in. It had perhaps served often as a pall for the dead. Now it
21was to hide something that had a corruption of its own, worse than the corruption of death itself--something that would
22breed horrors and yet would never die. What the worm was to the corpse, his sins would be to the painted image on the
23canvas. They would mar its beauty and eat away its grace. They would defile it and make it shameful. And yet the thing
24would still live on. It would be always alive. He shuddered, and for a moment he regretted that he had not told Basil
25the true reason why he had wished to hide the picture away. Basil would have helped him to resist Lord Henry's
26influence, and the still more poisonous influences that came from his own temperament. The love that he bore him--for it
27was really love--had nothing in it that was not noble and intellectual. It was not that mere physical admiration of
28beauty that is born of the senses and that dies when the senses tire. It was such love as Michelangelo had known, and
29Montaigne, and Winckelmann, and Shakespeare himself. Yes, Basil could have saved him. But it was too late now. The past
30could always be annihilated. Regret, denial, or forgetfulness could do that. But the future was inevitable. There were
31passions in him that would find their terrible outlet, dreams that would make the shadow of their evil real. He took up
32from the couch the great purple-and-gold texture that covered it, and, holding it in his hands, passed behind the
33screen. Was the face on the canvas viler than before? It seemed to him that it was unchanged, and yet his loathing of it
34was intensified. Gold hair, blue eyes, and rose-red lips--they all were there. It was simply the expression that had
35altered. That was horrible in its cruelty. Compared to what he saw in it of censure or rebuke, how shallow Basil's
36reproaches about Sibyl Vane had been!--how shallow, and of what little account! His own soul was looking out at him from
37the canvas and calling him to judgement. A look of pain came across him, and he flung the rich pall over the picture. As
38he did so, a knock came to the door. He passed out as his servant entered. "The persons are here, Monsieur." He felt
39that the man must be got rid of at once. He must not be allowed to know where the picture was being taken to. There was
40something sly about him, and he had thoughtful, treacherous eyes. Sitting down at the writing-table he scribbled a note
41to Lord Henry, asking him to send him round something to read and reminding him that they were to meet at eight-fifteen
42that evening. "Wait for an answer," he said, handing it to him, "and show the men in here." In two or three minutes
43there was another knock, and Mr. Hubbard himself, the celebrated frame-maker of South Audley Street, came in with a
44somewhat rough-looking young assistant. Mr. Hubbard was a florid, red-whiskered little man, whose admiration for art was
45considerably tempered by the inveterate impecuniosity of most of the artists who dealt with him. As a rule, he never
46left his shop. He waited for people to come to him. But he always made an exception in favour of Dorian Gray. There was
47something about Dorian that charmed everybody. It was a pleasure even to see him. "What can I do for you, Mr. Gray?" he
48said, rubbing his fat freckled hands. "I thought I would do myself the honour of coming round in person. I have just got
49a beauty of a frame, sir. Picked it up at a sale. Old Florentine. Came from Fonthill, I believe. Admirably suited for a
50religious subject, Mr. Gray." "I am so sorry you have given yourself the trouble of coming round, Mr. Hubbard. I shall
51certainly drop in and look at the frame--though I don't go in much at present for religious art--but to-day I only want
52a picture carried to the top of the house for me. It is rather heavy, so I thought I would ask you to lend me a couple
53of your men." "No trouble at all, Mr. Gray. I am delighted to be of any service to you. Which is the work of art, sir?"
54"This," replied Dorian, moving the screen back. "Can you move it, covering and all, just as it is? I don't want it to
55get scratched going upstairs." "There will be no difficulty, sir," said the genial frame-maker, beginning, with the aid
56of his assistant, to unhook the picture from the long brass chains by which it was suspended. "And, now, where shall we
57carry it to, Mr. Gray?" "I will show you the way, Mr. Hubbard, if you will kindly follow me. Or perhaps you had better
58go in front. I am afraid it is right at the top of the house. We will go up by the front staircase, as it is wider." He
59held the door open for them, and they passed out into the hall and began the ascent. The elaborate character of the
60frame had made the picture extremely bulky, and now and then, in spite of the obsequious protests of Mr. Hubbard, who
61had the true tradesman's spirited dislike of seeing a gentleman doing anything useful, Dorian put his hand to it so as
62to help them. "Something of a load to carry, sir," gasped the little man when they reached the top landing. And he wiped
63his shiny forehead. "I am afraid it is rather heavy," murmured Dorian as he unlocked the door that opened into the room
64that was to keep for him the curious secret of his life and hide his soul from the eyes of men.
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