To my amazement, she came to the flat.  When she was announced, I could scarcely tell the servant to show her in, and when she entered, I couldn’t speak at all for a moment.  She was so—­however, I won’t describe her.  I couldn’t, for one thing.  No one could describe that woman.  She didn’t make any fuss.  She didn’t cry out that she had ruined her reputation or anything like that.  She simply said that she had received my letter, and that she had believed the sincerity of my threat, while regretting it, and what did I wish to say to her—­she wouldn’t be able to stay long.  It goes without saying I couldn’t begin.  I couldn’t frame a sentence.  So I suggested we should have some tea.  Accordingly, we had some tea.  She poured it out, and we discussed the furniture of the drawing-room.  I might have known she had fine taste in furniture.  She had.  When tea was over, she seemed to be getting a little impatient.  Then I rang for the tray to be removed, and as soon as we were alone again, I started:  ‘Miss Payne—­’

Now, when I started like that, I hadn’t the ghost of a notion what I was going to say.  And then the idea stepped into my head all of a sudden:  ’Why not tell her exactly what your situation is?  Why not be frank with her, and see how it works?’ It was an inspiration.  Though I didn’t believe in it, and thought in a kind of despair that I was spoiling my chances, it was emphatically an inspiration, and I was obliged to obey it.

So I told her what Darcy had told me.  I explained how it was that I couldn’t live long.  I said I had nothing to hope for in this world, no joy, nothing but blackness and horror.  I said how tremendously I was in love with her.  I said I knew she wasn’t in love with me, but at the same time I thought she ought to have sufficient insight to see that I was fundamentally a decent chap.  I went so far as to say that I didn’t see how she could dislike me.  And I said:  ’I ask you to marry me.  It will only be for a year or two, but that year or two are all my life, while only a fraction of yours.  I am rich, and after my death you will be rich, and free from the necessity of this daily drudgery of yours.  But I don’t ask you to marry me for money; I ask you to marry me out of pity.  I ask you, out of kindness to the most unfortunate and hopeless man in the world, to give me a trifle out of your existence.  Merely out of pity; merely because it is a woman’s part in the world to render pity and balm.  I won’t hide anything from you.  There will be the unpleasant business of my sudden death, which will be a shock to you, even if you learn to hate me.  But you would get over that.  And you would always afterwards have the consciousness of having changed the last months of a man’s career from hell to heaven.  There’s no disguising the fact that it’s a strange proposition I’m making to you, but the proposition is not more strange than the situation.  Will you consent, or won’t you?’ She was going to say something, but I stopped her.  I said:  ’Wait a moment.  I shan’t try to terrorize you by threats of suicide.  And now, before you say “Yes” or “No,” I give you my solemn word not to commit suicide if you say “No."’ Then I went on in the same strain appealing to her pity, and telling her how humble I should be as a husband.