It was long past midday when Dorian woke up. His servant brought him tea and his letters, but he did not read them. Yesterday seemed like a bad dream, but when he went downstairs, he saw the covered picture. Should he uncover it, he wondered? Had the face in the picture really changed? Did he want to know? He lit a cigarette and thought for a while. Yes, he had to know. He lifted the cover.

There was no mistake. The portrait had really changed. He could not explain it, could not understand it. It was impossible, but it had happened.

"My dear boy," said Lord Henry, as he came in. "I'm so sorry. But you must not think too much about her."

Dorian felt sick and ashamed. He did not know what to do, or what to think. Finally, he sat down and wrote a long letter to Sybil Vane. He covered page after page with wild words of love. Then, suddenly, he heard Lord Henry's voice at the door. Dorian jumped up and covered the picture.

"Do you mean about Sybil Vane?" asked Dorian. "There's nothing to be sorry about. I want to be good, and I'm going to be happy. I shall marry Sybil Vane. I'm not going to break my promise to her."

"Dorian," he said quietly, "don't be frightened -- my letter told you that Sybil Vane is dead. She killed herself at the theatre last night."

"Marry Sybil Vane!" Lord Henry stared at Dorian. "Didn't you get my letter?"

Lord Henry walked across the room and took Dorian's hands in his own.

"I haven't read my letters today," said Dorian slowly.

"No, no, that's impossible!" cried Dorian. He pulled his hands away and stared at Lord Henry with wild eyes. "This is terrible, Harry. I have murdered Sybil Vane!"

"She killed herself," said Lord Henry calmly. "You didn't murder her. She killed herself because she loved you. It's very sad, of course, but you mustn't think too much about it. You must come and have dinner with me."

"Harry, listen. Last night I told her that I didn't want to see her again. But after I left her, I realized how cruel I had been. I decided to go back to her, to marry her. And now she is dead! Harry, what shall I do? You don't know the danger that I am in."

"My dear Dorian, said Lord Henry." Marriage with Sybil Vane was not for you. No, no… marriages like that are never successful. The man quickly becomes unhappy and bored. Of course, he's kind to his wife. We can always be kind to people that we're not interested in. But the woman soon discovers that her husband is bored. And then she either becomes terribly unfashionable, or wears very expensive hats that another woman's husband has to pay for."

After a while Dorian Gray looked up. "You have explained me to myself, Harry," he said slowly. "How well you know me! But we won't talk of this again. It's been a wonderful lesson for me. That's all."

The young man walked up and down me room. "I suppose that's true," he said unhappily. "But Harry, I don't think that I'm cruel. Do you?"

Lord Henry smiled. He told Dorian Gray what he wanted to hear. And then he told him clever, amusing stories about the women that he himself had loved. He said that Sybil Vane's death was a beautiful end to a love story for an actress. "The girl never really lived," he continued, "so she never really died. Don't cry for Sybil Vane. She was less real than Juliet."

When Lord Henry had left, Dorian uncovered the picture again. He had to choose between a good life and a bad life, he thought. But then he realized that, in fact, he had already chosen. He would stay young for ever, and enjoy every wild pleasure that life could give him. The face in the picture would grow old and ugly and unkind, but he would stay beautiful for ever. He covered the picture again, and smiled.

While Dorian was having breakfast the next morning, Basil Hallward came to see him.

"At last I've found you, Dorian," he said seriously. "I came last night, but they told me that you'd gone out to dinner with friends. I knew that wasn't true, of course. I wanted to tell you how sorry I was about Sybil Vane. Poor girl!"

An hour later he was at Lord Henry's house, and Lord Henry was smiling at his side.

"My dear Basil," said Dorian. He looked bored. "I was at Lord Henry's house last night. It was a very amusing evening."

"Stop, Basil! I won't listen to you!" Dorian jumped to his feet. "Sybil Vane is in the past… finished… forgotten."

Basil stared at him. "You went out to dinner?" he said slowly. "You went out to dinner when Sybil Vane was lying dead in some dirty theatre?"

"You've changed, Dorian," said Basil. "You have the same wonderful face, but where is the kind and gentle boy who sat for my portrait? Have you no heart?"

"Yesterday my heart was full of sadness. I have cried for Sybil, yes, but I cannot cry today. I have changed, Basil. I'm a man now, with new feelings, new ideas. Don't be angry with me. I am what I am. There's nothing more to say."

Basil watched him sadly. "Well, Dorian," he said at last, "I won't speak of poor Sybil again. But will you come and sit for another portrait soon?"

Dorian cried out in fear, and ran between Basil and the portrait. "No, Basil! You must not look at it. I don't want you to see it." His face was white and angry. "If you try to look at it, I'll never speak to you again."

Basil turned away. After a while he said slowly, "I see that you too have noticed something strange about the picture. Dorian, you changed my life as an artist from the moment when I met you. You became very important to me -- I could not stop thinking about you. And when I painted this portrait, I felt that I'd put too much of myself into it. I could not let other people see it." He was silent for a moment, then turned back to Dorian. "Perhaps you're right. I cannot exhibit this picture. But will you let me look at it again?"

"No. Never," said Dorian quickly. "It's impossible."

"But why?" asked Basil, very surprised. "And why have you covered the portrait?" He walked across the room towards the painting.

Dorian tried to hide his fear. "But you said… you told me that you would never exhibit the picture. Why have you changed your mind?" He came closer to Basil and looked into his face. "Tell me why," he said.

The artist stared at him. "Why can't I look at my own work?" he asked. "I'm going to exhibit it in an art gallery in Paris soon."

The artist smiled sadly. "Well, I've told you my secret now. Try to understand me, Dorian. You've been the one person in my life who has really influenced my art."

"No, never!"

As he left the room, Dorian Gray smiled to himself. What a dangerous moment that had been! Poor Basil! Although he had told his own secret, he had not discovered Dorian's secret. But the picture…he must hide it away at once. No one must ever see it again.

He had the covered portrait carried upstairs to a small room at the top of the house. Then he locked the door and kept the key himself. He felt safe now, because only his eyes would see the terrible changes in that beautiful face.

When he returned to the room downstairs, he picked up a book that Lord Henry had lent him. He sat down and began to read.

It was the story of a Frenchman, who had spent his life searching for beauty and pleasure -- pleasure of all kinds, both good and bad. Dorian read for hours. It was a frightening book, full of strange ideas and dangerous dreams -- dreams that slowly became real for Dorian.

Dorian read this book many times. In fact, he could not stop reading it, and over the years, it became more and more interesting to him. He felt that the Frenchman's life was a mirror of his own.