to church.

"That was at Lohengrin, Lady Henry, I think?"

"Yes; it was at dear Lohengrin. I like Wagner's music better than
anybody's. It is so loud that one can talk the whole time without
other people hearing what one says. That is a great advantage,
don't you think so, Mr. Gray?"

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 don't think so,
Lady Henry. I never talk during music--at least, during good music.
If one hears bad music, it is one's duty to drown it in conversation."

"Ah! that is one of Harry's views, isn't it, Mr. Gray?
I always hear Harry's views from his friends. It is the only
way I get to know of them. But you must not think I don't
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 don't know what it
is about them. Perhaps it is that they are foreigners.
They all are, ain't they? Even those that are born
in England become foreigners after a time, don't they?
It is so clever of them, and such a compliment to art.
Makes it quite cosmopolitan, doesn't it? You have never been
to any of my parties, have you, Mr. Gray? You must come.
I can't afford orchids, but I share no expense in foreigners.