There was no doubt that curiosity had much to do with it, curiosity and the desire for new experiences; yet it was not a simple but rather a very complex passion.
What there was in it of the purely sensuous instinct of boyhood had been transformed by the workings of the imagination, changed into something that seemed to the lad himself to be remote from sense, and was for that very reason all the more dangerous.
It was the passions about whose origin we deceived ourselves that tyrannised most strongly over us.
Our weakest motives were those of whose nature we were conscious.
It often happened that when we thought we were experimenting on others we were really experimenting on ourselves.
While Lord Henry sat dreaming on these things, a knock came to the door, and his valet entered, and reminded him it was time to dress for dinner.
He got up and looked out into the street.
The sunset had smitten into scarlet gold the upper windows of the houses opposite.
The panes glowed like plates of heated metal.
The sky above was like a faded rose. He thought of his friend's young fiery-coloured life, and wondered how it was all going to end.
When he arrived home, about half-past twelve o'clock, he saw a telegram lying on the hall table.
He opened it, and found it was from Dorian Gray. It was to tell him that he was engaged to be married to Sibyl Vane.
CHAPTER V
"Mother, mother, I am so happy!" whispered the girl, burying her face in the lap of the faded, tired-looking woman who, with back turned to the shrill intrusive light, was sitting in the one arm-chair that their dingy sitting-room contained. "I am so happy!" she repeated, "and you must be happy too!"
Mrs. Vane winced, and put her thin bismuth-whitened hands on her daughter's head.
"Happy!" she echoed, "I am only happy, Sibyl, when I see you act.
You must not think of anything but your acting.
Mr. Isaacs has been very good to us, and we owe him money."
The girl looked up and pouted.
"Money, mother?" she cried, "what does money matter?
Love is more than money."
"Mr. Isaacs has advanced us fifty pounds to pay off our debts, and to get a proper outfit for James.
You must not forget that, Sibyl.
Fifty pounds is a very large sum.
Mr. Isaacs has been most considerate."
"He is not a gentleman, mother, and I hate the way he talks to me," said the girl, rising to her feet, and going over to the window.
"I don't know how we could manage without him," answered the elder woman, querulously.
Sibyl Vane tossed her head and laughed.
"We don't want him any more, mother.
Prince Charming rules life for us now."
Then she paused.
A rose shook in her blood, and shadowed her cheeks.
Quick breath parted the petals of her lips.
They trembled.
Some southern wind of passion swept over her, and stirred the dainty folds of her dress.
"I love him," she said, simply.
"Foolish child! foolish child!" was the parrot-phrase flung in answer.
The waving of crooked, false-jewelled fingers gave grotesqueness to the words.
The girl laughed again.
The joy of a caged bird was in her voice.
Her eyes caught the melody, and echoed it in radiance; then closed for a moment, as though to hide their secret.
When they opened, the mist of a dream had passed across them.
Thin-lipped wisdom spoke at her from the worn chair, hinted at prudence, quoted from that book of cowardice whose author apes the name of common sense.
She did not listen.
She was free in her prison of passion.
Her prince, Prince Charming, was with her.
She had called on Memory to remake him.
She had sent her soul to search for him, and it had brought him back.
His kiss burned again upon her mouth. Her eyelids were warm with his breath.
Then Wisdom altered its method and spoke of espial and discovery.