《道林格雷的画像》第48章

dorian　looked　at　him　and　smiled。　〃what　a　way　for　a　fashionable　painter　to　travel！　a　gladstone　bag　and　an　ulster！　e　in；　or　the　fog　will　get　into　the　house。　and　mind　you　dont　talk　about　anything　serious。　nothing　is　serious　nowadays。　at　least　nothing　should　be。〃
hallward　shook　his　head；　as　he　entered；　and　followed　dorian　into　the　library。　there　was　a　bright　wood　fire　blazing　in　the　large　open　hearth。　the　lamps　were　lit；　and　an　open　dutch　silver　spirit…case　stood；　with　some　siphons　of　soda…water　and　large　cut…glass　tumblers；　on　a　little　marqueterie　table。
〃you　see　your　servant　made　me　quite　at　home；　dorian。　he　gave　me　everything　i　wanted；　including　your　best　gold…tipped　cigarettes。　he　is　a　most　hospitable　creature。　i　like　him　much　better　than　the　frenchman　you　used　to　have。　what　has　bee　of　the　frenchman；　by　the　bye？〃
dorian　shrugged　his　shoulders。　〃i　believe　he　married　lady　radleys　maid；　and　has　established　her　in　paris　as　an　english　dressmaker。　anglomanie　is　very　fashionable　over　there　now；　i　hear。　it　seems　silly　of　the　french；　doesnt　it？　but……do　you　know？……he　was　not　at　all　a　bad　servant。　i　never　liked　him；　but　i　had　nothing　to　plain　about。　one　often　imagines　things　that　are　quite　absurd。　he　was　really　very　devoted　to　me　and　seemed　quite　sorry　when　he　went　away。　have　another　brandy…and…soda？　or　would　you　like　hock…and…seltzer？　i　always　take　hock…and…seltzer　myself。　there　is　sure　to　be　some　in　the　next　room。〃
〃thanks；　i　wont　have　anything　more；〃　said　the　painter；　taking　his　cap　and　coat　off　and　throwing　them　on　the　bag　that　he　had　placed　in　the　corner。　〃and　now；　my　dear　fellow；　i　want　to　speak　to　you　seriously。　dont　frown　like　that。　you　make　it　so　much　more　difficult　for　me。〃
〃what　is　it　all　about？〃　cried　dorian　in　his　petulant　way；　flinging　himself　down　on　the　sofa。　〃i　hope　it　is　not　about　myself。　i　am　tired　of　myself　to…night。　i　should　like　to　be　somebody　else。〃
〃it　is　about　yourself；〃　answered　hallward　in　his　grave　deep　voice；　〃and　i　must　say　it　to　you。　i　shall　only　keep　you　half　an　hour。〃
dorian　sighed　and　lit　a　cigarette。　〃half　an　hour！〃　he　murmured。
〃it　is　not　much　to　ask　of　you；　dorian；　and　it　is　entirely　for　your　own　sake　that　i　am　speaking。　i　think　it　right　that　you　should　know　that　the　most　dreadful　things　are　being　said　against　you　in　london。〃
〃i　dont　wish　to　know　anything　about　them。　i　love　scandals　about　other　people；　but　scandals　about　myself　dont　interest　me。　they　have　not　got　the　charm　of　novelty。〃
〃they　must　interest　you；　dorian。　every　gentleman　is　interested　in　his　good　name。　you　dont　want　people　to　talk　of　you　as　something　vile　and　degraded。　of　course；　you　have　your　position；　and　your　wealth；　and　all　that　kind　of　thing。　but　position　and　wealth　are　not　everything。　mind　you；　i　dont　believe　these　rumours　at　all。　at　least；　i　cant　believe　them　when　i　see　you。　sin　is　a　thing　that　writes　itself　across　a　mans　face。　it　cannot　be　concealed。　people　talk　sometimes　of　secret　vices。　there　are　no　such　things。　if　a　wretched　man　has　a　vice；　it　shows　itself　in　the　lines　of　his　mouth；　the　droop　of　his　eyelids；　the　moulding　of　his　hands　even。　somebody……i　wont　mention　his　name；　but　you　know　him……came　to　me　last　year　to　have　his　portrait　done。　i　had　never　seen　him　before；　and　had　never　heard　anything　about　him　at　the　time；　though　i　have　heard　a　good　deal　since。　he　offered　an　extravagant　price。　i　refused　him。　there　was　something　in　the　shape　of　his　fingers　that　i　hated。　i　know　now　that　i　was　quite　right　in　what　i　fancied　about　him。　his　life　is　dreadful。　but　you；　dorian；　with　your　pure；　bright；　innocent　face；　and　your　marvellous　untroubled　youth……　i　cant　believe　anything　against　you。　and　yet　i　see　you　very　seldom；　and　you　never　e　down　to　the　studio　now；　and　when　i　am　away　from　you；　and　i　hear　all　these　hideous　things　that　people　are　whispering　about　you；　i　dont　know　what　to　say。　why　is　it；　dorian；　that　a　man　like　the　duke　of　berwick　leaves　the　room　of　a　club　when　you　enter　it？　why　is　it　that　so　many　gentlemen　in　london　will　neither　go　to　your　house　or　invite　you　to　theirs？　you　used　to　be　a　friend　of　lord　staveley。　i　met　him　at　dinner　last　week。　your　name　happened　to　e　up　in　conversation；　in　connection　with　the　miniatures　you　have　lent　to　the　exhibition　at　the　dudley。　staveley　curled　his　lip　and　said　that　you　might　have　the　most　artistic　tastes；　but　that　you　were　a　man　whom　no　pure…minded　girl　should　be　allowed　to　know；　and　whom　no　chaste　woman　should　sit　in　the　same　room　with。　i　reminded　him　that　i　was　a　friend　of　yours；　and　asked　him　what　he　meant。　he　told　me。　he　told　me　right　out　before　everybody。　it　was　horrible！　why　is　your　friendship　so　fatal　to　young　men？　there　was　that　wretched　boy　in　the　guards　who　mitted　suicide。　you　were　his　great　friend。　there　was　sir　henry　ashton；　who　had　to　leave　england　with　a　tarnished　name。　you　and　he　were　inseparable。　what　about　adrian　singleton　and　his　dreadful　end？　what　about　lord　kents　only　son　and　his　career？　i　met　his　father　yesterday　in　st。　jamess　street。　he　seemed　broken　with　shame　and　sorrow。　what　about　the　young　duke　of　perth？　what　sort　of　life　has　he　got　now？　what　gentleman　would　associate　with　him？〃
〃stop；　basil。　you　are　talking　about　things　of　which　you　know　nothing；〃　said　dorian　gray；　biting　his　lip；　and　with　a　note　of　infinite　contempt　in　his　voice。　〃you　ask　me　why　berwick　leaves　a　room　when　i　enter　it。　it　is　because　i　know　everything　about　his　life；　not　because　he　knows　anything　about　mine。　with　such　blood　as　he　has　in　his　veins；　how　could　his　record　be　clean？　you　ask　me　about　henry　ashton　and　young　perth。　did　i　teach　the　one　his　vices；　and　the　other　his　debauchery？　if　kents　silly　son　takes　his　wife　from　the　streets；　what　is　that　to　me？　if　adrian　singleton　writes　his　friends　name　across　a　bill；　am　i　his　keeper？　i　know　how　people　chatter　in　england。　the　middle　classes　air　their　moral　prejudices　over　their　gross　dinner…tables；　and　whisper　about　what　they　call　the　profligacies　of　their　betters　in　order　to　try　and　pretend　that　they　are　in　smart　society　and　on　intimate　terms　with　the　people　they　slander。　in　this　country；　it　is　enough　for　a　man　to　have　distinction　and　brains　for　every　mon　tongue　to　wag　against　him。　and　what　sort　of　lives　do　these　people；　who