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‘I don’t like simple pleasures,’ said Lord Henry. ‘And I don’t like scenes, except on the stage. What absurd fellows you are, both of you! I wonder who it was defined man as a rational animal. It was the most premature definition ever given. Man is many things, but he is not rational. I am glad he is not, after all: though I wish you chaps would not squabble over the picture. You had much better let me have it, Basil. This silly boy doesn’t really want it, and I do.’

‘If you let any one have it but me, Basil, I will never forgive you!’ cried Dorian Gray. ‘And I don’t allow people to call me a silly boy.’

‘You know the picture is yours, Dorian. I gave it to you before it existed.’

‘And you know you have been a little silly, Mr. Gray, and that you don’t really mind being called a boy.’

‘I should have minded very much this morning, Lord Henry.’

‘Ah! this morning! You have lived since then.’

There came a knock to the door, and the butler entered with the teatray and set it down upon a small Japanese table. There was a rattle of cups and saucers and the hissing of a fluted Georgian urn. Two globe-shaped china dishes were brought in by a page. Dorian Gray went over and poured the tea out. The two men sauntered languidly to the table, and examined what was under the covers.

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