My dear Dorian;
I heard Lord Henry took you to the theatre last night; I hope you both enjoyed yourselves? I am sorry for not coming with you, but the portrait needed to be varnished and framed, you understand. Drop by tomorrow, and the painting shall be yours.
If I may, I feel the need to ask forgiveness for my reckless actions yesterday. I hope I never led you to believe that my art meant more to me than you, for, sincerely, Dorian, nothing could take your place in my heart. No, you are far, far more to me than any silver Faun or ivory Hermes, and I shall love you despite the inevitable touch of time – rather, I believe it shall lead me to love you even more. I know not what stories Lord Henry has put into your golden head, but he is wrong, Dorian. He could not be more wrong, for I shall love you always.
When I attempted to rip apart the painting, I did not realize how much it meant to you, or I would not have even thought to commit such an act. I swear, Dorian, I would do nothing to hurt you purposely, but I suppose the mention of your own suicide drove me to an absurd extreme. You entered my life for the first time only a few months ago, and already I cannot imagine existence without you. Please, don't even fool with such ideas as self-destruction, and don't let Henry trick you into doing anything you – or I – might regret later; as I said, he doesn't believe most the words that come out of his mouth, and neither should you. You are lovely, inside and out, and I beg you not to let that two-faced cynic lead you to think otherwise.
Your portrait will be soon be done, and I would feel privileged if you would come for tea with me tomorrow afternoon before you pick it up. Perhaps we can talk more on this later.
Your servant always,
BASIL HALLWARD