sked them
repeatedly to play cards with her "young chaps" in the kitchen, but
Louis was too frightened to face them. He was too shy to go downstairs
to carry up water or coal for Marcella, and she had to do it herself; in
the undermined state of his nerves it was torture to him to face people,
and he became petulant if asked to do what he called "menial tasks."
Marcella understood him: Mrs. King had no hesitation in saying he was
abominably lazy.

Money became more and more scarce, but this worried her not at all. She
was coming to associate the possession of money with Louis's
restlessness, for always on English mail days he was restless and bad
tempered until she had paid away practically all their money, when he
became calm again. She began to think that if she could devise a way of
living by barter, without money at all, they might conceivably eliminate
these fits of restlessness and petulance. And all the time, as there
seemed no chance of getting work, she was racking her brains for some
way of getting out of the city before his next intermittent outburst
came along.

English mail day usually happened on Monday; on the Saturday before the
last remittance would arrive Marcella discovered that she had no money
at all. She told Louis with a little, perplexed laugh.

"Lord, and I've no cigarettes," he cried in dismay.

"Well, it's only one day," she began. He got nearly frantic.

"You know perfectly well I can't do without cigarettes," he cried. "If I
do I'll get all raked up. You know what it means if I get all raked
up--"

"Oh, don't always be threatening me with that," she cried hotly. "You
know I'm doing my best, Louis. But I tell you I wouldn't be a slave to
anything like cigarettes. I do believe St. Paul when he says, 'If thy
right hand offend thee cut it off.' _I_ would--if my right hand dared to
boss me."

"Probably you would," he sneered. "We all know how damned superior you
always are, and as for an emasculated old ass like St. Paul--blasted,
white-livered passive resister--"

She stared at him and laughed. Her laugh maddened him.

"I wonder why it is," she said quietly, "that if anyone conquers his
particular vice, people sneer at him and call him names? You seem to
think that curing a cancer in one's mind is rather an effeminate thing
to do, Louis--rather a priggish thing. I suppose if you get cured of
drinking you'll say you never did it for fear of being called a prig?"

"Oh, for God's sake