When the portrait was finished, Dorian stood before it in silence. For the first time in his life he saw his own beauty as a stranger sees it, and with that knowledge came a sharp pain. "How sad it is," he said at last. "I shall grow old and horrible, but this picture will remain always young. It will never be older than this day in June. If it were only the other way! If I could stay young, and the picture grow old! For that I would give everything. I would give my soul for it." "You would not care for such an arrangement, Basil," said Lord Henry, laughing. "It would be rather hard on your work." But Basil had grown pale. "Dorian, do not say such things." "I mean it," said the boy. "I am jealous of everything whose beauty does not die. Why did you paint it? It will mock me some day — mock me horribly!" And he threw himself down on the divan and turned his face away.