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CHAPTER VIII . It was long past noon when he awoke . His valet had crept several times on tiptoe into the room to see if he was stirring , and had wondered what made his young master sleep so late . Finally his bell sounded , and Victor came in softly with a cup of tea , and a pile of letters , on a small tray of old Sevres china , and drew back the olive - satin curtains , with their shimmering blue lining , that hung in front of the three tall windows . “ Monsieur has well slept this morning , ” he said , smiling . “ What o’clock is it , Victor ? ” asked Dorian Gray drowsily . “ One hour and a quarter , Monsieur . ” How late it was ! He sat up , and having sipped some tea , turned over his letters . One of them was from Lord Henry , and had been brought by hand that morning . He hesitated for a moment , and then put it aside . The others he opened listlessly . They contained the usual collection of cards , invitations to dinner , tickets for private views , programmes of charity concerts , and the like that are showered on fashionable young men every morning during the season . There was a rather heavy bill for a chased silver Louis - Quinze toilet - set that he had not yet had the courage to send on to his guardians , who were extremely old - fashioned people and did not realize that we live in an age when unnecessary things are our only necessities ; and there were several very courteously worded communications from Jermyn Street money - lenders offering to advance any sum of money at a moment’s notice and at the most reasonable rates of interest . After about ten minutes he got up , and throwing on an elaborate dressing - gown of silk - embroidered cashmere wool , passed into the onyx - paved bathroom . The cool water refreshed him after his long sleep . He seemed to have forgotten all that he had gone through . A dim sense of having taken part in some strange tragedy came to him once or twice , but there was the unreality of a dream about it . As soon as he was dressed , he went into the library and sat down to a light French breakfast that had been laid out for him on a small round table close to the open window . It was an exquisite day . The warm air seemed laden with spices . A bee flew in and buzzed round the blue - dragon bowl that , filled with sulphur - yellow roses , stood before him . He felt perfectly happy . Suddenly his eye fell on the screen that he had placed in front of the portrait , and he started . “ Too cold for Monsieur ? ” asked his valet , putting an omelette on the table . “ I shut the window ? ”
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