“How fond women are of doing dangerous things!” laughed Lord Henry.  “It is one of the qualities in them that I admire most.  A woman will flirt with anybody in the world as long as other people are looking on.”

“How fond you are of saying dangerous things, Harry!  In the present instance, you are quite astray.  I like the duchess very much, but I don’t love her.”

“And the duchess loves you very much, but she likes you less, so you are excellently matched.”

“You are talking scandal, Harry, and there is never any basis for scandal.”

“The basis of every scandal is an immoral certainty,” said Lord Henry, lighting a cigarette.

“You would sacrifice anybody, Harry, for the sake of an epigram.”

“The world goes to the altar of its own accord,” was the answer.

“I wish I could love,” cried Dorian Gray with a deep note of pathos in his voice.  “But I seem to have lost the passion and forgotten the desire.  I am too much concentrated on myself.  My own personality has become a burden to me.  I want to escape, to go away, to forget.  It was silly of me to come down here at all.  I think I shall send a wire to Harvey to have the yacht got ready.  On a yacht one is safe.”

“Safe from what, Dorian?  You are in some trouble.  Why not tell me what it is?  You know I would help you.”

“I can’t tell you, Harry,” he answered sadly.  “And I dare say it is only a fancy of mine.  This unfortunate accident has upset me.  I have a horrible presentiment that something of the kind may happen to me.”

“What nonsense!”

“I hope it is, but I can’t help feeling it.  Ah! here is the duchess, looking like Artemis in a tailor-made gown.  You see we have come back, Duchess.”

“I have heard all about it, Mr. Gray,” she answered.  “Poor Geoffrey is terribly upset.  And it seems that you asked him not to shoot the hare.  How curious!”

“Yes, it was very curious.  I don’t know what made me say it.  Some whim, I suppose.  It looked the loveliest of little live things.  But I am sorry they told you about the man.  It is a hideous subject.”

“It is an annoying subject,” broke in Lord Henry.  “It has no psychological value at all.  Now if Geoffrey had done the thing on purpose, how interesting he would be!  I should like to know some one who had committed a real murder.”

“How horrid of you, Harry!” cried the duchess.  “Isn’t it, Mr. Gray?  Harry, Mr. Gray is ill again.  He is going to faint.”

Dorian drew himself up with an effort and smiled.  “It is nothing, Duchess,” he murmured; “my nerves are dreadfully out of order.  That is all.  I am afraid I walked too far this morning.  I didn’t hear what Harry said.  Was it very bad?  You must tell me some other time.  I think I must go and lie down.  You will excuse me, won’t you?”

They had reached the great flight of steps that led from the conservatory on to the terrace.  As the glass door closed behind Dorian, Lord Henry turned and looked at the duchess with his slumberous eyes.  “Are you very much in love with him?” he asked.