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scarlet lips, his dark blue eyes, his crisp gold hair. There was something in his face that made one trust him at once. All youth the candour of youth was there, and well as all youth's passionate purity. One felt that he had kept himself unspotted by the world. No wonder Basil Hallward worshipped him. He was made to be worshipped.
"You are too charming to go in for philanthropy, Mr. Gray, far too charming," and Lord Henry flung himself down on the divan, and opened his cigarette-case.
Hallward has been busy mixing his colours, and getting his brushes ready. He was looking worried, and when he heard Lord Henry's last remark, he glanced at him, hesitated for a moment, and then said, "Harry, I want to finish this picture today. Would you think it awfully rude of me if I asked you to go away?"
Lord Henry smiled, and looked at Dorian Gray. "Am I to go, Mr. Gray," he asked.
"Oh, please don't, Lord Henry. I see that Basil is in one of his sulky moods, and I can't bear him when he sulks. Besides I want you to tell me why I should
