“I do not understand you,” said Sir Thomas, growing rather red.

“I do, Lord Henry,” murmured Mr. Erskine, with a smile.

“Paradoxes are all very well in their way... .” rejoined the baronet.

“Was that a paradox?” asked Mr. Erskine.  “I did not think so.  Perhaps it was.  Well, the way of paradoxes is the way of truth.  To test reality we must see it on the tight rope.  When the verities become acrobats, we can judge them.”

“Dear me!” said Lady Agatha, “how you men argue!  I am sure I never can make out what you are talking about.  Oh!  Harry, I am quite vexed with you.  Why do you try to persuade our nice Mr. Dorian Gray to give up the East End?  I assure you he would be quite invaluable.  They would love his playing.”

“I want him to play to me,” cried Lord Henry, smiling, and he looked down the table and caught a bright answering glance.

“But they are so unhappy in Whitechapel,” continued Lady Agatha.

“I can sympathize with everything except suffering,” said Lord Henry, shrugging his shoulders.  “I cannot sympathize with that.  It is too ugly, too horrible, too distressing.  There is something terribly morbid in the modern sympathy with pain.  One should sympathize with the colour, the beauty, the joy of life.  The less said about life’s sores, the better.”

“Still, the East End is a very important problem,” remarked Sir Thomas with a grave shake of the head.

“Quite so,” answered the young lord.  “It is the problem of slavery, and we try to solve it by amusing the slaves.”

The politician looked at him keenly.  “What change do you propose, then?” he asked.

Lord Henry laughed.  “I don’t desire to change anything in England except the weather,” he answered.  “I am quite content with philosophic contemplation.  But, as the nineteenth century has gone bankrupt through an over-expenditure of sympathy, I would suggest that we should appeal to science to put us straight.  The advantage of the emotions is that they lead us astray, and the advantage of science is that it is not emotional.”

“But we have such grave responsibilities,” ventured Mrs. Vandeleur timidly.

“Terribly grave,” echoed Lady Agatha.

Lord Henry looked over at Mr. Erskine.  “Humanity takes itself too seriously.  It is the world’s original sin.  If the caveman had known how to laugh, history would have been different.”

“You are really very comforting,” warbled the duchess.  “I have always felt rather guilty when I came to see your dear aunt, for I take no interest at all in the East End.  For the future I shall be able to look her in the face without a blush.”

“A blush is very becoming, Duchess,” remarked Lord Henry.

“Only when one is young,” she answered.  “When an old woman like myself blushes, it is a very bad sign.  Ah!  Lord Henry, I wish you would tell me how to become young again.”