Comoedia
Dorian left the theatre. Its very presence irritated and upset him. In that theatre, the most unspeakable tragedy had occurred. He had been disillusioned. Disillusionment was unfair. It had taken from him something he thought he loved and turned it into a repulsive, unfortunate disappointment.
He looked up at the sky through the buildings, and thought for a moment that he might walk. Then he dropped his head and his beautiful blue eyes picked out the cracks in the street. He would go home. He had no desire to wander. Rather, he would hide within his house where the things were what he had chosen, and perfect. There was nothing to disappoint him at home.
He was wrong. As soon as he entered his bedroom he saw Basil's picture. It had changed. There was something wrong with it that hurt him. The face had changed.
With a deep feeling of worry, he approached it. It was a beautiful picture, a picture of him, and something had taken away a part of its beauty. Very carefully, he put his slim, pretty fingers to the mouth of the painting. It had changed. It had changed terribly.
The face he had grown so fond of looking at was smiling at him cruelly, with the expression hardened and the eyes no longer innocently lovely. Dorian shuddered. He remembered, suddenly, that he'd wished the painting would grow old instead of him, and he put a hand to his stomach as he began to feel ill. But if it was so, and the painting was changing instead, what had he done? Why had the face gone like that?
Sibyl? Of course it must--but how could it be? She had disappointed him, she had hurt him. It should not be him whose face had changed! She had caused him to suffer.
He was afraid, in the back of his mind that this was not strictly true. Perhaps he had caused her more sorrow than she had him.
He closed his eyes, and then looked at the painting again. It was dreadful now, with that expression. He wanted nothing more than to take it away. He wanted the cruelty to vanish.
And he suddenly saw a solution. Perhaps he had hurt Sibyl more. Perhaps that was the truth. He could take back what he had done. He could restore the portrait. Perhaps he could even make it more beautiful than before with this truly good act. He hesitated, and shook his head. That was absurd-- but his vanity won. He would marry Sibyl in spite of the tragedy, and give his painting back its loveliness. Sibyl had said she could become a fine actress again, and he told himself it was quite possible. Without a doubt he could love her again.
He looked at the clock. It was a quarter past twelve.
He turned on his heel, caught up his cape off the table, and ran out bareheaded, with the air streaming through his hair by his own speed. There was still time to change things.
He knew the location of the theatre by heart, and rushed inside, pushing past anyone in his way, panting for breath. He had never run like this before, and it made his throat burn and feel as though he must have somehow torn it open. He nearly fell into Sibyl's dressing room.
"Sibyl!"
She turned around and saw him, trying to catch his balance and his breath, with his golden hair blown standing up and his cape on sideways, pink in the face and utterly dishevelled.
"Dorian?" she faltered.
"Sibyl, you must know I'm sorry! I can hardly believe I was so hideous as to say those things to you!" He took both her little curled-up hands in his, still half-gasping as he spoke. "You must please believe me, Sibyl! We shall get out of here, we shall live in the country! I shall make you the happiest bride that ever lived! My love, you must please forgive me!"
She was still staring at him in amazement, her beautiful dark eyes wide, and she dropped something on the floor. "Dorian," she whispered, and it seemed to him she might die right before him if he didn't stop her. He stroked her hair awkwardly, telling her in the softest, gentlest voice possible how happy he would make her.
At the wedding, her mother saw it as the suitable end to the play. The girl is loved, forsaken over a misunderstanding, nearly commits suicide--for her mother was sure of that--and is saved at the last moment by her prince. Yes, it was an excellent ending for the little comedy.
Chapter Two
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