[16] “Yes,” continued Lord Henry, “that is one of the great secrets of life,—­ to cure the soul by means of the senses, and the senses by means of the soul.  You are a wonderful creature.  You know more than you think you know, just as you know less than you want to know.”

Dorian Gray frowned and turned his head away.  He could not help liking the tall, graceful young man who was standing by him.  His romantic olive-colored face and worn expression interested him.  There was something in his low, languid voice that was absolutely fascinating.  His cool, white, flower-like hands, even, had a curious charm.  They moved, as he spoke, like music, and seemed to have a language of their own.  But he felt afraid of him, and ashamed of being afraid.  Why had it been left for a stranger to reveal him to himself?  He had known Basil Hallward for months, but the friendship between then had never altered him.  Suddenly there had come some one across his life who seemed to have disclosed to him life’s mystery.  And, yet, what was there to be afraid of?  He was not a school-boy, or a girl.  It was absurd to be frightened.

“Let us go and sit in the shade,” said Lord Henry.  “Parker has brought out the drinks, and if you stay any longer in this glare you will be quite spoiled, and Basil will never paint you again.  You really must not let yourself become sunburnt.  It would be very unbecoming to you.”

“What does it matter?” cried Dorian, laughing, as he sat down on the seat at the end of the garden.

“It should matter everything to you, Mr. Gray.”

“Why?”

“Because you have now the most marvellous youth, and youth is the one thing worth having.”

“I don’t feel that, Lord Henry.”

“No, you don’t feel it now.  Some day, when you are old and wrinkled and ugly, when thought has seared your forehead with its lines, and passion branded your lips with its hideous fires, you will feel it, you will feel it terribly.  Now, wherever you go, you charm the world.  Will it always be so?

“You have a wonderfully beautiful face, Mr. Gray.  Don’t frown.  You have.  And Beauty is a form of Genius,—­is higher, indeed, than Genius, as it needs no explanation.  It is one of the great facts of the world, like sunlight, or spring-time, or the reflection in dark waters of that silver shell we call the moon.  It cannot be questioned.  It has its divine right of sovereignty.  It makes princes of those who have it.  You smile?  Ah! when you have lost it you won’t smile.

“People say sometimes that Beauty is only superficial.  That may be so.  But at least it is not so superficial as Thought.  To me, Beauty is the wonder of wonders.  It is only shallow people who do not judge by appearances.  The true mystery of the world is the visible, not the invisible.