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That is all . But we won’t discuss literature . Come round to - morrow . I am going to ride at eleven . We might go together , and I will take you to lunch afterwards with Lady Branksome . She is a charming woman , and wants to consult you about some tapestries she is thinking of buying . Mind you come . Or shall we lunch with our little duchess ? She says she never sees you now . Perhaps you are tired of Gladys ? I thought you would be . Her clever tongue gets on one’s nerves . Well , in any case , be here at eleven . ” “ Must I really come , Harry ? ” “ Certainly . The park is quite lovely now . I don’t think there have been such lilacs since the year I met you . ” “ Very well . I shall be here at eleven , ” said Dorian . “ Good night , Harry . ” As he reached the door , he hesitated for a moment , as if he had something more to say . Then he sighed and went out . CHAPTER XX . It was a lovely night , so warm that he threw his coat over his arm and did not even put his silk scarf round his throat . As he strolled home , smoking his cigarette , two young men in evening dress passed him . He heard one of them whisper to the other , “ That is Dorian Gray . ” He remembered how pleased he used to be when he was pointed out , or stared at , or talked about . He was tired of hearing his own name now . Half the charm of the little village where he had been so often lately was that no one knew who he was . He had often told the girl whom he had lured to love him that he was poor , and she had believed him . He had told her once that he was wicked , and she had laughed at him and answered that wicked people were always very old and very ugly . What a laugh she had ! — just like a thrush singing . And how pretty she had been in her cotton dresses and her large hats ! She knew nothing , but she had everything that he had lost . When he reached home , he found his servant waiting up for him . He sent him to bed , and threw himself down on the sofa in the library , and began to think over some of the things that Lord Henry had said to him . Was it really true that one could never change ? He felt a wild longing for the unstained purity of his boyhood — his rose - white boyhood , as Lord Henry had once called it . He knew that he had tarnished himself , filled his mind with corruption and given horror to his fancy ; that he had been an evil influence to others , and had experienced a terrible joy in being so ; and that of the lives that had crossed his own , it had been the fairest and the most full of promise that he had brought to shame . But was it all irretrievable ? Was there no hope for him ?
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