for you! You have ten
thousand a year and no one to care for but yourself."

Suddenly he felt almost a hatred for his friend, and then a rebellion
at the renunciation he would have to make.

"No--it can't be done. We'll have to give it up. Impossible, utterly
impossible, I can't afford it."

De Gollyer, still a little uncertain of his ground, for several moments
waited, carefully considering the dubious expression on his friend's
face. Then he questioned abruptly:

"What is your income--now?"

"What do you mean by _now_?"

"Fifteen thousand a year?"

"It has always been that," replied Lightbody in bad humor.

De Gollyer, approaching at last the great question, assumed an air of
concentrated firmness, tempered with well-mannered delicacy.

"My dear boy, I beg your pardon. As a matter of fact it has always been
fifteen thousand--quite right, quite so; but--now, my dear boy, you are
too much of a man of the world to be offended, aren't you?"

"No," said Lightbody, staring in front of him. "No, I'm not offended."

"Of course it's delicate, ticklishly delicate ground, but then we must
look things in the face. Now if you'd rather I--"

"No, go on."

"Of course, dear boy, you've had a smashing knock and all that sort of
thing, but--" suddenly reaching out he took up the letter, and, letting
it hang from his fingers, thoughtfully considered it--"I say it might be
looked at in this way. Yesterday it was fifteen thousand a year to dress
up a dashing wife, modern New York style, the social pace, clothes that
must be smarter than Thingabob's wife, competitive dinners that you stir
up with your fork and your servants eat, and all that sort of thing, you
know. To-day it's fifteen thousand a year and a bachelor again."

Releasing the letter, he disdainfully allowed it to settle down on the
desk, and finished:

"Come now, as a matter of fact there is a little something consoling,
isn't there?"

From the moment he had perceived De Gollyer's idea. Lightbody had become
very quiet, gazing steadily ahead, seeing neither the door nor the
retaining walls.

"I never thought of that," he said, almost in a whisper.

"Quite so, quite so. Of course one doesn't think of such things, right
at first. And you've had a knock-down--a regular smasher, old chap." He
stopped, cleared his voice and said sympathetically: "You adored her?"

"I suppose I could give up the apartment and sell the auto," said
Lightbody slowly, speaking to