A pencil lay before him. Lightbody, without knowing what he did, took it up and mechanically on an unwritten sheet jotted down $15,000, drawing the dollar sign with a careful, almost caressing stroke. The sheet was the back of his wife's letter, but he did not notice it. De Gollyer, looking over his shoulder, exclaimed: "Quite right. Fifteen thousand, divided by one." "It will make a difference," said Lightbody slowly. Over his face passed an expression such as comes but once in a lifetime; a look defying analysis; a look that sweeps back over the past and challenges the future and always retains the secret of its judgment. De Gollyer, drawing back slowly, allowed him a moment before saying: "And no alimony!" "What?" "Free and no alimony, my boy!" "No alimony?" said Lightbody, surprised at this new reasoning. "A woman who runs away gets no alimony," said De Gollyer loudly. "Not here, not in the effete East!" "I hadn't thought of that, either," said Lightbody, who, despite himself, could not repress a smile. De Gollyer, irritated perhaps that he should have been duped into sympathy, ran on with a little vindictiveness. "Of course that means nothing to you, dear boy. You were happy, _ideally_ happy! You adored her, didn't you?" He paused and then, receiving no reply, continued: "But you see, if you hadn't been so devilish lucky, so seraphically happy all these years, you might find a certain humor in the situation, mightn't you? Still, look it in the face, what have you lost, what have you left? There is something in that. Fifteen thousand a year, liberty and no alimony." The moment had come which could no longer be evaded. Lightbody rose, turned, met the lurking malice in De Gollyer's eyes with the blank indecision screen of his own, and, turning on his heel, went to a little closet in the wall, and bore back a decanter and glasses. "This is not what we serve on the table," he said irrelevantly. "It's whisky." De Gollyer poured out his drink and looked at Lightbody _en connoisseur_. "You've gone off--old--six years. You were the smartest of the old crowd, too. You certainly have gone off." Lightbody listened, with his eyes in his glass. "Jack, you're middle-aged--you've gone off--badly. It's hit you hard." There was a moment's silence and then Lightbody spoke quietly: "Jim!" "What is it, old boy?" "Do you want to know the truth?" "Come--out with it!" Lightbody struggled a moment, all the hesitation showing in his lips. Then he said, slowly shaking his head, never lifting his eyes, speaking as though to another: "Jim, I've had a hell of a time!" "Impossible!" "Yes."