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...