hions,asthoughheraying.

    "Thisisyourdoing,Harry,"saidthepaiterly.

    LordHenryshruggedhisshoulders."ItistherealDray--thatisall."

    "Itisnot."

    "Ifitisnot,whathaveItodowithit?"

    "YoushouldhavegoneawaywhenIaskedyou,"hemuttered.

    "Istayedwhenyouaskedme,"wasLordHenrysanswer.

    "Harry,ItquarrelwithmytwobestfriendsatobetweenyoubothyouhavemademehatethefipieceofworkIhaveeverdone,andIwilldestroyit.Whatisitbutvasandcolour?Iwilleacrossourthreelivesandmarthem."

    Drayliftedhisgoldenheadfromthepillow,andwithpallidfadtear-stainedeyes,lookedathimashewalkedovertothedealpainting-tablethatwassetbehehighcurtainedwindoashedoingthere?Hisfingerswerestrayingaboutamoeroftintubesanddrybrushes,seekingforsomethiwasforthelongpalette-khitsthinbladeoflithesteel.Hehadfounditatlast.Hewasgoingtoripupthevas.

    Withastifledsobtheladleapedfromthecoud,rushioHallward,torethekofhishand,andflungittotheendofthestudio."Dont,Basil,dont!"hecried."Itwouldbemurder!"

    "Iamgladyouappreciatemyworkatlast,Dorian,"saidthepaintercoldlywhenhehadrecoveredfromhissurprise."Ihoughtyouwould."

    "Appreciateit?Iamihit,Basil.Itispartofmyself.Ifeelthat."

    "Well,assoonasyouaredry,youshallbevarnished,andframed,ahome.Thenyoudowhatyoulikewithyourself."Andhewalkedacrosstheroomandrangthebellfortea."Youwillhavetea,ofcourse,Dorian?Andsowillyou,Harry