[The change in Dorian's voice strikes Henry as nothing in their conversation has, like a cold hand on his shoulder; it is a sound he has never heard in Dorian's voice and that—he realises suddenly—he never wished to hear. He now feels as if he might choke on that terrible sensation of dread and pride.]

[There is nothing to do for it now but to take out another cigarette and offer one to Dorian. When he speaks, his tone is smooth and unruffled, but now he can feel the strain it requires to maintain his unflappability.]

I beg your pardon. It was impertinent for me to ask. But how wonderfully like a fairy-tale it is! like Meleager and the burning brand that contained his soul. I hope for your sake that your brand is safely locked away from any who might feed it to the fire.