Although I joy in thee,
    I have no joy of this contract to-night: 
    It is too rash, too unadvised, too sudden;
    Too like the lightning, which doth cease to be
    Ere one can say, “It lightens.”  Sweet, good-night! 
    This bud of love by summer’s ripening breath
    May prove a beauteous flower when next we meet—­

she spoke the words as though they conveyed no meaning to her.  It was not nervousness.  Indeed, so far from being nervous, she was absolutely self-contained.  It was simply bad art.  She was a complete failure.

Even the common uneducated audience of the pit and gallery lost their interest in the play.  They got restless, and began to talk loudly and to whistle.  The Jew manager, who was standing at the back of the dress-circle, stamped and swore with rage.  The only person unmoved was the girl herself.

When the second act was over, there came a storm of hisses, and Lord Henry got up from his chair and put on his coat.  “She is quite beautiful, Dorian,” he said, “but she can’t act.  Let us go.”

“I am going to see the play through,” answered the lad, in a hard bitter voice.  “I am awfully sorry that I have made you waste an evening, Harry.  I apologize to you both.”

“My dear Dorian, I should think Miss Vane was ill,” interrupted Hallward.  “We will come some other night.”

“I wish she were ill,” he rejoined.  “But she seems to me to be simply callous and cold.  She has entirely altered.  Last night she was a great artist.  This evening she is merely a commonplace mediocre actress.”

“Don’t talk like that about any one you love, Dorian.  Love is a more wonderful thing than art.”

“They are both simply forms of imitation,” remarked Lord Henry.  “But do let us go.  Dorian, you must not stay here any longer.  It is not good for one’s morals to see bad acting.  Besides, I don’t suppose you will want your wife to act, so what does it matter if she plays Juliet like a wooden doll?  She is very lovely, and if she knows as little about life as she does about acting, she will be a delightful experience.  There are only two kinds of people who are really fascinating—­ people who know absolutely everything, and people who know absolutely nothing.  Good heavens, my dear boy, don’t look so tragic!  The secret of remaining young is never to have an emotion that is unbecoming.  Come to the club with Basil and myself.  We will smoke cigarettes and drink to the beauty of Sibyl Vane.  She is beautiful.  What more can you want?”

“Go away, Harry,” cried the lad.  “I want to be alone.  Basil, you must go.  Ah! can’t you see that my heart is breaking?” The hot tears came to his eyes.  His lips trembled, and rushing to the back of the box, he leaned up against the wall, hiding his face in his hands.

“Let us go, Basil,” said Lord Henry with a strange tenderness in his voice, and the two young men passed out together.