aily 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.

I could see I had moved her; and now I think over the scene I fancy that
my appeal must have been a lot more touching than I imagined it was when
I was making it.

She said: 'I have always liked you a little. But I haven't loved you,
and I don't love you.' And then, after a pause--I was determined to say
nothing more--she said: 'Yes, I will marry you. I may be doing wrong--I
am certainly doing something very unusual; but I have no one to advise
me against it, and I will follow my impulse and marry you. I needn't say
that I shall do all I can to be a good wife to you. Ours will be a
curious marriage.... Perhaps, after all, I am very wicked!'

I cried out: 'No, you aren't--no you aren't! The saints aren't in it
with you!'

She smiled at this speech. She's so sensible, Camilla is. She's like a
man in some things; all really great women are.

I could tell you a lot more that passed immediately afterwards, but I
can feel already my voice is getting a bit tired. Besides, it's nothing
to you, Polycarp.

Then, afterwards, I said: 'You _will_ love me, you know.'

And I meant it. Any man in similar circumstances would have said it and
meant it. She smiled again. And then I wanted to be alone with her, to
enjoy the intimacy of her presence, without a lot of servants all over
the place; so I went ou