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"I think you are wrong, Basil, but I won't argue with you. It is

only the intellectually lost who ever argue. Tell me, is Dorian

Gray very fond of you?"

The painter considered for a few moments. "He likes me," he

answered after a pause; "I know he likes me. Of course I flatter

him dreadfully. I find a strange pleasure in saying things to him

that I know I shall be sorry for having said. As a rule, he is

charming to me, and we sit in the studio and talk of a thousand

things. Now and then, however, he is horribly thoughtless, and

seems to take a real delight in giving me pain. Then I feel,

Harry, that I have given away my whole soul to some one who

treats it as if it were a flower to put in his coat, a bit of

decoration to charm his vanity, an ornament for a summer's day."