“On the wharf?”

“Yes.”

“That mad-cat is sure to be there.  They won’t have her in this place now.”

Dorian shrugged his shoulders.  “I am sick of women who love one.  Women who hate one are much more interesting.  Besides, the stuff is better.”

“Much the same.”

“I like it better.  Come and have something to drink. 
I must have something.”

“I don’t want anything,” murmured the young man.

“Never mind.”

Adrian Singleton rose up wearily and followed Dorian to the bar.  A half-caste, in a ragged turban and a shabby ulster, grinned a hideous greeting as he thrust a bottle of brandy and two tumblers in front of them.  The women sidled up and began to chatter.  Dorian turned his back on them and said something in a low voice to Adrian Singleton.

A crooked smile, like a Malay crease, writhed across the face of one of the women.  “We are very proud to-night,” she sneered.

“For God’s sake don’t talk to me,” cried Dorian, stamping his foot on the ground.  “What do you want?  Money?  Here it is.  Don’t ever talk to me again.”

Two red sparks flashed for a moment in the woman’s sodden eyes, then flickered out and left them dull and glazed.  She tossed her head and raked the coins off the counter with greedy fingers.  Her companion watched her enviously.

“It’s no use,” sighed Adrian Singleton.  “I don’t care to go back.  What does it matter?  I am quite happy here.”

“You will write to me if you want anything, won’t you?” said Dorian, after a pause.

“Perhaps.”

“Good night, then.”

“Good night,” answered the young man, passing up the steps and wiping his parched mouth with a handkerchief.

Dorian walked to the door with a look of pain in his face. 
As he drew the curtain aside, a hideous laugh broke from
the painted lips of the woman who had taken his money. 
“There goes the devil’s bargain!” she hiccoughed, in a
hoarse voice.

“Curse you!” he answered, “don’t call me that.”

She snapped her fingers.  “Prince Charming is what you like to be called, ain’t it?” she yelled after him.

The drowsy sailor leaped to his feet as she spoke, and looked wildly round.  The sound of the shutting of the hall door fell on his ear.  He rushed out as if in pursuit.

Dorian Gray hurried along the quay through the drizzling rain.  His meeting with Adrian Singleton had strangely moved him, and he wondered if the ruin of that young life was really to be laid at his door, as Basil Hallward had said to him with such infamy of insult.  He bit his lip, and for a few seconds his eyes grew sad.  Yet, after all, what did it matter to him?  One’s days were too brief to take the burden of another’s errors on one’s shoulders.  Each man lived his own life and paid his own price for living it.  The only pity was one had to pay so often for a single fault.  One had to pay over and over again, indeed.  In her dealings with man, destiny never closed her accounts.