“It is rather late, and, as you have to dress, you had better lose no time. Goodbye, Harry. Goodbye, Dorian. Come and see me soon. Come tomorrow.”
“Certainly.”
“You won’t forget?”
“No, of course not,” cried Dorian.
“And … Harry!”
“Yes, Basil?”
“Remember what I asked you, when we were in the garden this morning.”
“I have forgotten it.”
“I trust you.”
“I wish I could trust myself,” said Lord Henry, laughing. “Come, Mr. Gray, my hansom is outside, and I can drop you at your own place. Goodbye, Basil. It has been a most interesting afternoon.”
As the door closed behind them, the painter flung himself down on a sofa, and a look of pain came into his face.