tly been a family quarrel: the mother, wanting sympathy, had
written to Louis about it. And he had felt angry with Violet, angry with
Violet's husband, angry with his father. "That explains why, when I went
off my head, I said I wasn't the Pater's son, and why I crystallized my
annoyance with Violet into hatred of you."

There was a long silence. Marcella was learning things rapidly.

"Then, when everything outside goes well, we shall be happy, but if the
tiniest thing upsets or annoys you I shall have to suffer?" she said
calmly.

"Oh, my pet--" he began brokenly, and burst into tears.

She felt that his crying was pitiful, but very futile. Later, very
shakily, he wrote a letter to his father at her dictation, and she
posted it, thus cutting them off from England. He got better slowly,
able, as his brain cleared, to treat himself as a doctor might have
done. As soon as he seemed able to talk about the future she raised the
subject.

"Louis," she said one evening, "I've learnt a lot of things lately. I've
learnt that I must never believe a word you say, for one thing. And I'm
going to act on that. But what's worrying me most is that we have
practically no money left."

"Oh, my God!" he cried tragically.

"You see," she went on calmly, "I believed in your work, so I was not
particularly careful with the money. That's one thing. Another is that
we're both going to work or you'll be worse and I'll murder you soon.
Number three is that we're going to get out of this city where you won't
be in constant temptation. Perhaps when you've got some nerve back again
we'll live among people again. You can't stay in bed for the rest of
your life. You'd be bored to drink in no time--"

"I couldn't be bored where you are, girlie," he whispered tenderly. "How
could I be?"

"I don't know, but you are. And so am I," she said grimly. He stared at
her and was silent.

"What are we going to do till we get away, then?" he asked. "We've still
got the Pater's money--"

"Yes, that will come for weeks yet. I've thought all about that. If I
were heroic I suppose I'd not touch it. But I don't see how we can avoid
it."

"But it isn't enough to get out of Sydney with," he said petulantly.

"Yes it is. I'm going to find work for us," she informed him.

"What sort of work?"

"Anything--farm work is all I know. But probably I could cook. Mrs. King
has told me a good many things to make."

"But, Marcella--" began Louis, almost tearfu