ed him with her vague fet-me-not eyes. She was a curious woman, whose dresses always looked as if they had been designed in a rage and put on in a tempest. She was usually in love with somebody, and, as her passion was never returned, she had kept all her illusions. She tried to look picturesque, but only succeeded in being untidy. Her name was Victoria, and she had a perfect mania foing to church.
"That was at Lohengrin, Lady Henry, I think?"
"Yes; it was at dear Lohengrin. I like Wagners music better than anybodys. It is so loud that one talk the whole time without other people hearing what one says. That is a great advantage, dont you think sray?"
The same nervous staccato laugh broke from her thin lips, and her fingers began to play with a long tortoise-shell paper-knife.
Dorian smiled and shook his head: "I am afraid I dont think so, Lady Henry. I alk during music--at least, during good music. If one hears bad music, it is ones duty to drown it iion."
"Ah! that is one of Harrys views, isnt it, Mr. Gray? I always hear Harrys views from his friends. It is the only way I get to know of them. But you must not think I dont like good music. I adore it, but I am afraid of it. It makes me too romantic. I have simply worshipped pianists-- two at a time, sometimes, Harry tells me. I dont know what it is about them. Perhaps it is that they are fners. They all are, aint they? Even those that are born in England bee fners after a time, dont they? It is so clever of them, and such a pliment to art. Makes it quite opolitan, doesnt it? You have never been to any of my parties, have you, Mr. Gray? You must e. I t afford orchids, but I share no expense in fners. They make ones rooms look so picturesque. But here is Harry! Harry, I came in to look for you, to ask you something-- I fet what it was--and I found Mr. Gray here. We have had such a pl