Chapter 7

           Itwaslongpastnoonwhenheawoke. Hisvalethadcreptseveraltimesontiptoeintotheroomtoseeifhewasstirring,andhadwonderedwhatmadehisyoungmastersleepsolate. Finallyhisbellsounded,andVictorcamesoftlyinwithacupoftea,andapileofletters,onasmalltrayofoldSèvreschina, anddrewbacktheolive-satincurtains,withtheirshimmeringbluelining,thathunginfrontofthethreetallwindows. 

           "Monsieurhaswellsleptthismorning,"hesaid,smiling. 

           "Whato’clockisit,Victor? "askedDorianGray,drowsily. 

           "Onehourandaquarter,Monsieur." 

           Howlateitwas! Hesatup,and,havingsippedsometea,turnedoverhisletters. OneofthemwasfromLordHenry,andhadbeenbroughtbyhandthatmorning. Hehesitatedforamoment,andthenputitaside. Theothersheopenedlistlessly. Theycontainedtheusualcollectionofcards,invitationstodinner,ticketsforprivateviews,programmesofcharityconcerts,andthelike, thatareshoweredonfashionableyoungmeneverymorningduringtheseason. Therewasaratherheavybill,forachasedsilverLouis-Quinzetoilet-set, thathehadnotyethadthecouragetosendontohisguardians, whowereextremelyold-fashionedpeopleanddidnotrealisethatweliveinanagewhenunnecessarythingsareouronlynecessities; andtherewereseveralverycourteouslywordedcommuniationsfromJermynStreetmoney-lendersofferingtoadvanceanysumofmoneyatamoment’snoticeandatthemostreasonableratesofinterest. 

           Afterabouttenminuteshegotup,and,throwingonanelaboratedressing-gownofsilk-embroideredcashmerewool,passedintotheonyx-pavedbathroom.