Chapter XIX

           Avoidingthecrowdunderthecolonnades,Franciswalkedslowlyupanddownthenobleopenspaceofthesquare,bathedinthelightoftherisingmoon.

           Withoutbeingawareofithimself,hewasathoroughmaterialist.Thestrangeeffectproducedonhimbytheroom—followingontheotherstrangeeffectsproducedontheotherrelativesofhisdeadbrother—exercisednoperplexinginfluenceoverthemindofthissensibleman.’Perhaps,’hereflected,’mytemperamentismoreimaginativethanIsupposedittobe—andthisisatrickplayedonmebymyownfancy?Or,perhaps,myfriendisright;somethingisphysicallyamisswithme?Idon’tfeelill,certainly.Butthatisnosafecriterionsometimes.Iamnotgoingtosleepinthatabominableroomto-night—Icanwellwaittillto-morrowtodecidewhetherIshallspeaktoadoctorornot.Inthemeantime,thehoteldoesn’tseemlikelytosupplymewiththesubjectofapiece.Aterriblesmellfromaninvisibleghostisaperfectlynewidea.Butithasonedrawback.IfIrealiseitonthestage,Ishalldrivetheaudienceoutofthetheatre.’

           Ashisstrongcommonsensearrivedatthisfacetiousconclusion,hebecameawareofalady,dressedentirelyinblack,whowasobservinghimwithmarkedattention.’AmIrightinsupposingyoutobeMr.FrancisWestwick?’theladyasked,atthemomentwhenhelookedather.

           ’Thatismyname,madam.MayIinquiretowhomIhavethehonourofspeaking?’

           ’Wehaveonlymetonce,’sheansweredalittleevasively,’whenyourlatebrotherintroducedmetothemembersofhisfamily.