[For just a moment, Henry feels a kind of dread, and he remembers abruptly that summer afternoon in Basil Hallward's studio—that ridiculous scene where Basil, overcome by the pain of the romance that he scarcely seemed to perceive in himself, swept up his palette-knife and threatened to destroy Dorian's portrait. But the dread is quickly replaced by a strange swelling of pride within his breast; how wonderful, how unexpected, how impossibly marvellous Dorian has become! If anything he has only become more fascinating; it is almost like meeting him new all over again.]

[His cigarette nearly burned out, he stubs out the remains in the ashtray. He takes out his case, but does not open it yet.]

Let us start with the first and most obvious question. How have you achieved this astounding longevity, to say nothing of your perfectly preserved youth? I always did wonder at your secret.