Charlotte went to London and met many famous writers.I was very pleased；I loved to hear about the people and places that she saw.But she always came back to Haworth；she didn't like to be with famous people very long.And this quiet place was her home.In 1852，just before Christmas，a terrible thing happened.I heard some of it from my room.My curate，Arthur Nicholls，opened the door to Charlotte's sitting－room， and stood there.His face was white，and he was shaking.'Yes，Mr Nicholls？'Charlotte said. 'Do you want to come in？''No，Miss Charlotte-that is， yes. I mean-I have something important to say to you.'I heard his voice stop for a moment and then he went on.'I have always…felt strongly about you，Miss Charlotte，and…my feelings are stronger，much stronger，than you know.And，well， the fact is， Miss Charlotte， that…I am asking you to be my wife.There was a long silence.I heard every word，and I felt cold and angry.Mr Nicholls was a good curate，but that was all.I paid him 100 pounds a year to help me with my work，but he had no place in my house，or in my daughter's bed！I stood up， and opened my door.
