shall
live in my house,' he said to himself.

And there was no way out of it. It did not occur to the man that his
offer could be refused. During the whole of that day he went about
among his friends in a melancholy fashion, saying little snappish
uncivil things at the club, and at last dining by himself with about
fifteen newspapers around him. After dinner he did not speak a word to
any man, but went early to the office of the newspaper in Trafalgar
Square at which he did his nightly work. Here he was lapped in
comforts,--if the best of chairs, of sofas, of writing tables, and of
reading lamps can make a man comfortable who has to read nightly
thirty columns of a newspaper, or at any rate to make himself
responsible for their contents.

He seated himself to his work like a man, but immediately saw Lady
Carbury's letter on the table before him. It was his custom when he
did not dine at home to have such documents brought to him at his
office as had reached his home during his absence;--and here was Lady
Carbury's letter. He knew her writing well, and was aware that here
was the confirmation of his fate. It had not been expected, as she had
given herself another day for her answer,--but here it was, beneath his
hand. Surely this was almost unfeminine haste. He chucked the letter,
unopened, a little from him, and endeavoured to fix his attention on
some printed slip that was ready for him. For some ten minutes his
eyes went rapidly down the lines, but he found that his mind did not
follow what he was reading. He struggled again, but still his thoughts
were on the letter. He did not wish to open it, having some vague idea
that, till the letter should have been read, there was a chance of
escape. The letter would not become due to be read till the next day.
It should not have been there now to tempt his thoughts on this night.
But he could do nothing while it lay there. 'It shall be a part of the
bargain that I shall never have to see him,' he said to himself, as he
opened it. The second line told him that the danger was over.

When he had read so far he stood up with his back to the fireplace,
leaving the letter on the table. Then, after all, the woman wasn't in
love with him! But that was a reading of the affair which he could
hardly bring himself to look upon as correct. The woman had shown her
love by a thousand signs. There was no doubt, however, that she now
had her triumph. A woman always has a triumph when she r