Chapter4

    Oernoon,amonthlater,Draywasreinginaluxuriousarm-chair,ilelibraryofLordHenryshouseinMayfair.Itwas,initsway,averycharmingroom,withitshighpanelledwainsgofolive-stainedoak,itscream-colouredfriezeandceilingofraisedplasterwork,anditsbrickdustfeltcarpetstrewnwithsilk,long-fringedPersianrugs.OnatinysatinwoodtablestoodastatuettebyClodion,andbesideitlayacopyofLesouvelles,boundfaretofValoisbyClovisEveandpowderedwiththegiltdaisiesthatQueenhadselectedforherdevielargeblueajarsandparrot-tulipswererahemantelshelf,andthroughthesmallleadedpahewindowstreamedtheapricot-colouredlightofasummerdayinLondon.

    LordHenryhadein.Hewasalwayslateonprinciple,hisprinciplebeingthatpunctualityisthethiefoftime.Sotheladwaslookingrathersulky,aswithlistlessfingersheturnedoverthepagesofanelaboratelyillustratededitionofManonLescautthathehadfoundihebook-cases.TheformalmonotonoustigoftheLouisQuatorzeclooyedhim.Owicehethoughtofgoingaway.

    Atlastheheardastepoutside,andthedooropened."Howlateyouare,Harry!"hemurmured.

    "IamafraiditisnotHarry,Mr.Gray,"answeredashrillvoice.

    Heglancedquicklyroundandrosetohisfeet."Ibegyourpardon.Ithought--"

    "Youthoughtitwasmyhusband.Itisonlyhiswife.Youmustletmeintroducemyself.Iknowyouquitewellbyyourphotographs.Ithinkmyhusbandhasgotsevehem."

    "een,LadyHenry?"

    "Well,eighteen,then.AndIsawyouwithhimthehtattheopera."Shelaughednervouslyasshespoke,andwatchedhimwithhervaguefet-m