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She fell at his feet like a broken flower . “ Don’t leave me , Dorian , ” she whispered . “ I am so sorry I didn’t act well . I was thinking of you all the time . I will work hard , I promise , but don’t be cruel to me , because I love you more than anything in the world . ” Dorian looked down at her with his beautiful eyes , and his lips curled with cold dislike . There is always something silly about the feelings of people whom one has stopped loving . “ I am going , ” he said at last in a calm , clear voice . “ I don’t wish to be unkind , but I can’t see you again , because you have disappointed me . ” Then he turned and left the room . VII . The Change He hardly knew where he went that night . He walked through dark streets , past black archways and houses with an evil look , while drunken men shouted after him . As the sun was rising , he found himself near Covent Garden , where huge carts full of lilies rolled slowly down the empty street . The air was heavy with the smell of flowers , and their beauty seemed to ease his pain . A man in a white coat gave him some cherries and would not take any money for them . At last he called a cab and drove home . In the hall the portrait that Basil had painted of him was hanging on the wall . As he passed it , he stopped in surprise . Then he went on into his bedroom , but after a moment he came back and looked at the picture more closely . In the grey light of the morning , the face seemed to be a little changed . There was a touch of cruelty in the mouth . He pulled up the blind , and the bright sunlight filled the room , but the strange expression did not go away . It even looked clearer . He took up a small mirror that Lord Henry had given him and looked into it quickly . No line like that spoiled his own red lips . What did it mean ? He sat down in a chair and began to think . Suddenly he remembered what he had said in Basil’s studio on the day the picture was finished . He had made a mad wish that he himself might stay young , and that the portrait might grow old . He had wished that the face on the canvas would carry the weight of his passions and his sins , while he kept all the fresh beauty of his youth . But such things were impossible , and surely his wish had not come true . And yet there was the picture in front of him , with the touch of cruelty in the mouth . Had he really been cruel ? It was the girl’s fault , not his . He had loved her because he had thought her a great artist , and she had disappointed him . And yet , when he remembered her lying at his feet and crying like a little child , he felt a terrible regret .
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