Dorian turned, his face red and angry. ‘Yes, you like your art better than your
friends,’ he said to Basil, ‘How long will you like me? Only while I’m
beautiful, I suppose. Lord Henry is right. Youth is the most important thing in
the world.
Oh, why did you paint this picture? Why should it stay young while I grow
old? I wish the picture could change, and I could stay as I am. I would give
anything, yes, anything, for that.’ He hid his face in his hands. ‘Dorian,
Dorian,’ said Basil unhappily. ‘Don’t talk like that. You’re my dearest
friend.’ He turned to Lord Henry. ‘What have you been teaching him?’ he
asked angrily. ‘Why didn’t you go away when I asked you?’ Lord Henry
smiled. ‘It’s the real Dorian Gray – that’s all.’ Basil turned and
walked quickly over the portrait. ‘It’s my best work, but now I hate it. I
will destroy it now, before it destroys our friendship.’ He picked up a long
knife. But Dorian was there before him.‘No, Basil, don't! You can’t destroy it.
That would be murder!’ So,’ said Basil coldly, ‘You’ve decided that you
like the portrait after all.’ ‘Like it? Said Dorian, ‘I’m in love with
it. I cannot live without it.’ Later, during tea. Lord Henry invited Basil and
Dorian to go with him to the theatre that night. Basil refused, but Dorian was
happy to accept. ‘Stay and have dinner with me, Dorian’ said Basil, but no,
Dorian preferred to the theatre with Lord Henry. As the door closed behind
Dorian and Lord Henry, Basil turned back to the picture. ‘I shall stay here
with the real Dorian Gray,’ he said sadly to himself.
