Her answer to my question what she wished me to do, suggested an idea. She wanted her "rights," as she phrased it; and clearly the straightforward course was to offer them. "Rights" meant marriage; and she was likely to feel in a deuce of a stew if I agreed to marry her. The farce of it was quite to my liking. To appear to force her into such a marriage with a man she had never seen in her life was rich, and at the same time good policy, as it would impress her with my honesty of purpose.
I kept the appointment punctually and found her rather breathless and flurried. It was a mean little flat; had evidently been hastily got ready; and the number of things still littered about the room, told that I had arrived in the middle of her efforts to get it in order.
She looked far less presentable without her hat and things. She was an untidy person, anything but clean, and made the mistake of trying to explain away the confusion and disorder in the place.
"I didn't really believe you'd come, or I'd have had the place tidier. When any one has to struggle alone for a living in these times, there isn't much chance of keeping the home right."
"Still I can see you've been doing your best."
"I always have to," she replied with a quick, half-suspicious glance.
"You have a hard struggle?"
"Hard enough."
"What do you do?"
"Anything and everything I can, of course. It's hard work."