Later he explained in a very clear, concise way, the reason for his outburst.  Partly it was periodic; partly it was the result of outside circumstances.  He had lied to her to “keep his end up,” he said; he had clung to his father’s money because he could not bear that she should be penniless; then a letter from his mother, brought at his request by King, had upset him.  It told how Violet had returned his engagement ring; she had forgotten to do it until her husband, noticing it in her jewel-case, had asked its history and insisted on its return.  His mother had said she would keep it safe for him until he came back; his father had said it must be sold to pay some of the debts Louis had left.  There had apparently 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.”