Marchmont, as an invalid, was not agreeable to talk with. Tortured with pain, to which he brought no sort of self-control or resolution to endure, his incessant cry was for morphia or chloral to drown his sufferings, and although utterly dependent on the kindness of those about him for help, for relief, and for attention, he never attempted to conciliate any one of them, but, losing all sense of decency, would shriek at them all manner of accusations--that they wished for his death, and had endeavoured to compass it; that they had purposely given him something to put him into this state of torture; everything, in short, that a good man who is being martyred could possibly throw at a set of miscreants who were taking advantage of his weakness to murder him was hurled by Marchmont at the heads of his attendants, who, if they had spoken out their minds, would have told him that only self-control on their parts prevented them from doing what he accused them of, and so getting rid of him for ever. If the attack lasted only a short time, perhaps the nurse and servants would hold out without bursting into open rebellion; if it endured long, Fulvia generally found herself left at the end of it in almost sole attendance. The servants were free: they did not receive their wages and render their services in order to be abused and maltreated; but a wife must surely succour her husband, must be devoted to him in sickness and in health. Very faithfully, very coldly, very determinedly, had she, so far, performed her duty. The attack this time was an even worse one than usual. Mr. Brownrigg became uneasy, and at last said to Fulvia that further advice would be desirable. The invalid, he plainly intimated, besides being so very ill, was so captious and dissatisfied that he, Mr. Brownrigg, would be glad that his treatment should have the approval of a high authority. Fulvia at once agreed--anything that Mr. Brownrigg thought desirable. She would beg him to telegraph to Sir Simon Sykes, the specialist whom Marchmont had already seen. They arranged this, and Mr. Brownrigg rode away. Then Fulvia went to Marchmont, and told him what had been settled. At first he seemed satisfied, then suddenly, with a vicious snarl, exclaimed: ‘It’s all rubbish. He’ll want at least two hundred guineas for taking such a journey here and back to London.’ ‘Quite, I should say,’ replied his wife coldly. ‘And what difference can it make to you if he wanted five hundred guineas?’ ‘Trust a beggar to be apt at spending other people’s money,’ was the gracious retort. Fulvia did not speak. She slightly shrugged her shoulders, without any perceptible change of countenance, only her whole aspect expressed a supreme disdain, which Marchmont himself saw. Absorbed, however, in the wrongs which were being done to him and his money, he proceeded, after a glance at her: