eon-holeoutofhiscoat,heseemedtohesitate.Finally,hecameback,wehepicture,andexami.Inthedimarrestedlightthatstruggledthroughthecream-colouredsilkblinds,thefaceappearedtohimtobealittleged.Theexpressionlookeddifferent.Onewouldhavesaidthattherewasatouchofcrueltyih.Itwascertainlystrange.

    Heturnedroundand,walkingtothewindow,drewuptheblind.Thebrightdawnfloodedtheroomahefantasticshadowsintoduskyers,wheretheylayshuddering.Butthestrangeexpressionthathehadnotithefaceoftheportraitseemedtolihere,tobemoreintensifiedeven.Thequiveringardentsunlightshowedhimthelinesofcrueltyrouhasclearlyasifhehadbeenlookingintoamirrorafterhehaddonesomedreadfulthing.

    Hewind,takingupfromthetableanovalglassframedinivoryCupids,oneofLordHenrysmastohim,glancedhurriedlyintoitspolisheddepths.Nolinelikethatedhisredlips.Whatdiditmean?

    Herubbedhiseyes,andcameclosetothepicture,andexamiagain.Therewerenosignsofanygewhenhelookedintotheactualpainting,aherewasnodoubtthatthewholeexpressionhadaltered.Itwasnotamerefancyofhisowhingwashorriblyapparent.

    Hethrewhimselfintoachairaothink.SuddenlythereflashedacrosshismindwhathehadsaidinBasilHallwardsstudiothedaythepicturehadbeenfinished.Yes,heremembereditperfectly.Hehadutteredamadwishthathehimselfmightremainyoung,araitgrowold;thathisowymightbeuntarnished,andthefathevasbeartheburdenofhispassionsandhissins;thatthepaintedimagemightbesearedwiththelinesofsufferingandthought,andthathemightkeepallthedelicatebloomandlovelinessofhisthenjustsciousboyhood.Surelyhiswishha