Chapter 8

           Ashewassittingatbreakfastnextmorning,BasilHallwardwasshownintotheroom. 

           "IamsogladIhavefoundyou,Dorian,"hesaid,gravely. "Icalledlastnight,andtheytoldmeyouwereattheOpera. OfcourseIknewthatwasimpossible. ButIwishyouhadleftwordwhereyouhadreallygoneto. Ipassedadreadfulevening,halfafraidthatonetragedymightbefollowedbyanother. Ithinkyoumighthavetelegraphedformewhenyouheardofitfirst. IreadofitquitebychanceinalateeditionofTheGlobe,thatIpickedupattheclub. Icamehereatonce,andwasmiserableatnotfindingyou. Ican’ttellyouhowheartbrokenIamaboutthewholething. Iknowwhatyoumustsuffer. Butwherewereyou? Didyougodownandseethegirl’smother? ForamomentIthoughtoffollowingyouthere. Theygavetheaddressinthepaper. SomewhereintheEustonRoad,isn’tit? ButIwasafraidofintrudinguponasorrowthatIcouldnotlighten. Poorwoman! Whatastateshemustbein! Andheronlychild,too! Whatdidshesayaboutitall?" 

           "MydearBasil,howdoIknow? "murmuredDorianGray,sippingsomepale-yellowwinefromadelicategold-beadedbubbleofVenetianglass,andlookingdreadfullybored. "IwasattheOpera. Youshouldhavecomeonthere. ImetLadyGwendolen,Harry’ssister,forthefirsttime. Wewereinherbox. Sheisperfectlycharming;andPattisangdivinely. Don’ttalkabouthorridsubjects. Ifonedoesn’ttalkaboutathing,ithasneverhappened. Itissimplyexpression,asHarrysays,thatgivesrealitytothings. Imaymentionthatshewasnotthewoman’sonlychild. Thereisason,acharmingfellow,Ibelieve. Butheisnotonthestage. Heisasailor,orsomething. Andnow,tellmeaboutyourselfandwhatyouarepainting."