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"You will always like me, Dorian," he replied. "Will you have

some coffee, you fellows? Waiter, bring coffee, and

fine-champagne, and some cigarettes. No, don't mind the

cigarettes-I have some. Basil, I can't allow you to smoke cigars.

You must have a cigarette. A cigarette is the perfect type of a

perfect pleasure. It is exquisite, and it leaves one unsatisfied.

What more can one want? Yes, Dorian, you will always be fond of

me. I represent to you all the sins you have never had the

courage to commit."

"What nonsense you talk, Harry!" cried the lad, taking a light

from a fire-breathing silver dragon that the waiter had placed on

the table. "Let us go down to the theatre. When Sibyl comes on

the stage you will have a new ideal of life. She will represent

something to you that you have never known."