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Suddenly the painter appeared at the door of the studio and made

staccato signs for them to come in. They turned to each other and

smiled.

"I am waiting," he cried. "Do come in. The light is quite

perfect, and you can bring your drinks."

They rose up and sauntered down the walk together. Two

green-and-white butterflies fluttered past them, and in the

pear-tree at the corner of the garden a thrush began to sing.

"You are glad you have met me, Mr. Gray," said Lord Henry,

looking at him.

"Yes, I am glad now. I wonder shall I always be glad?"

"Always! That is a dreadful word. It makes me shudder when I hear

it. Women are so fond of using it. They spoil every romance by

trying to make it last for ever. It is a meaningless word, too.

The only difference between a caprice and a lifelong passion is

that the caprice lasts a little longer."