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As they entered the studio, Dorian Gray put his hand upon Lord

Henry's arm. "In that case, let our friendship be a caprice," he

murmured, flushing at his own boldness, then stepped up on the

platform and resumed his pose.

Lord Henry flung himself into a large wicker arm-chair and

watched him. The sweep and dash of the brush on the canvas made

the only sound that broke the stillness, except when, now and

then, Hallward stepped back to look at his work from a distance.

In the slanting beams that streamed through the open doorway the

dust danced and was golden. The heavy scent of the roses seemed

to brood over everything.

After about a quarter of an hour Hallward stopped painting,

looked for a long time at Dorian Gray, and then for a long time

at the picture, biting the end of one of his huge brushes and

frowning. "It is quite finished," he cried at last, and stooping

down he wrote his name in long vermilion letters on the left-hand

corner of the canvas.