"
Surrey in despair pushed away the book over which he had been bending
all the afternoon, seeing for every word Francesca, and on every page an
image of her face. "I'll smoke myself into some sort of decent quiet,
before I go up town, at least"; and taking his huge meerschaum,
settling himself sedately, began his quieting operation with appalling
energy. The soft rings, gray and delicate, taking curious and airy
shapes, floated out and filled the room; but they were not soothing
shapes, nor ministering spirits of comfort. They seemed filmy garments,
and from their midst faces beautiful, yet faint and dim, looked at him,
all of them like unto her face; but when he dropped his pipe and bent
forward, the wreaths of smoke fell into lines that made the faces appear
sad and bathed in tears, and the images faded from his sight.
As the last one, with its visionary arms outstretched towards him,
receded from him, and disappeared, he thought, "That is Francesca's
spirit, bidding me an eternal adieu"--and, with the foolish thought, in
spite of its foolishness, he shivered and stretched out his arms in
return.
"Of a verity," he then cried, "if nature failed to make me an idiot, I
am doing my best to consummate that end, and become one of free choice.
What folly possesses me? I will dissipate it at once,--I will see her in
bodily shape,--that will put an end to such fancies,"--starting up, and
beginning to pull on his gloves.
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