"I must. I want you to explain to me why you won't exhibit Dorian
Gray's picture. I want the real reason."

"I told you the real reason."

"No, you did not. You said it was because there was too much of
yourself in it. Now, that is childish."

"Harry," said Basil Hallward, looking him straight in the face,
"every portrait that is painted with feeling is a portrait of the
artist, not of the sitter. The sitter is merely the accident, the
occasion. It is not he who is revealed by the painter; it is rather
the painter who, on the colored canvas, reveals himself. The reason
I will not exhibit this picture is that I am afraid that I have shown
with it the secret of my own soul."

Lord Harry laughed. "And what is that?" he asked.

"I will tell you," said Hallward; and an expression of perplexity
came over his face.

"I am all expectation, Basil," murmured his companion, looking at
him.

"Oh, there is really very little to tell, Harry," answered the young
painter; "and I am afraid you will hardly understand it. Perhaps you
will hardly believe it."

Lord Henry smiled, and, leaning down, plucked a pink-petalled daisy