enthusiasm, "nothing public, eh? No scandal--not our class. Men of the
world. No shooting! People don't shoot any more. It's reform, you know,
for the preservation of bachelors."

The effort, the renunciation of his just vengeance, had exhausted
Lightbody, who turned and came back, putting out his hands to steady
himself.

"It isn't that, it's, it's--" Suddenly his fingers encountered on the
table a pair of gloves--his wife's gloves, forgotten there. He raised
them, holding them in his open palm, glanced at De Gollyer and, letting
them fall, suddenly unable to continue, turned aside his head.

"Take time--a good breath," said De Gollyer, in military fashion, "fill
your lungs. Splendid! That's it."

Lightbody, sitting down at the desk, wearily drew the gloves to him,
gazing fixedly at the crushed perfumed fingers.

"Why, Jim," he said finally, "I adore her so--if she can be
happier--happier with another--if that will make her happier than I can
make her--well, I'll step aside, I'll make no trouble--just for her,
just for what she's done for me."

The last words were hardly heard. This time, despite himself, De Gollyer
was tremendously affected.

"Superb! By George, that's grit!"

Lightbody raised his head with the fatigue of the struggle and the pride
of the victory written on it.

"Her happiness first," he said simply.

The accent with which it was spoken almost convinced De Gollyer.

"By Jove, you adore her!"

"I adore her," said Lightbody, lifting himself to his feet. This time it
came not as an explosion, but as a breath, some deep echo from the soul.
He stood steadily gazing at his friend. "You're right, Jim. You're
right. It's not our class. I'll face it down. There'll be no scandal.
No one shall know."

Their hands met with an instinctive motion. Then, touched by the fervor
of his friend's admiration, Lightbody moved wearily away, saying dully,
all in a breath:

"Like a thunderclap, Jim."

"I know, dear old boy," said De Gollyer, feeling sharply vulnerable in
the eyes and throat.

"It's terrible--it's awful. All in a second! Everything turned upside
down, everything smashed!"

"You must go away," said De Gollyer anxiously.

"My whole life wrecked," continued Lightbody, without hearing him,
"nothing left--not the slightest, meanest thing left!"

"Dear boy, you must go away."

"Only last night she was sitting here, and I there, reading a book." He
stopped and put forth his hand. "This book!"

"Jack, you must go away for a while."

"What?"

"Go away!"

"Oh, yes, yes. I suppose so. I don't care."

Leaning against the desk, he gazed down at the rug, mentally and
physically inert.

De Gollyer, returning to his nature, said presently: "I say, dear old
fellow, it's awfully delicate, but I should like to be frank, from the
shoulder--out and out, do you mind?"

"What? No."

Seeing that Lightbody had only half listened, De Gollyer spoke with some
hesitation:

"Of course it's devilish impudent. I'll offend you dreadfully. But, I
say, now as a matter of fact, were you really so--so seraphically
happy?"

"What's that?"

"As a matter of fact," said De Gollyer changing his note instantly, "you
were happy, _terrifically_ happy, _always_ happy, weren't you?"

Lightbody was indignant.

"Oh, how can you, at such a moment?"

The new emotion gave him back his physical elasticity. He began to pace
up and down, declaiming at his friend, "I was happy, _ideally_ happy. I
never had a thought, not one, for anything else. I gave her everything.
I did everything she wanted. There never was a word between us. It was
_ideal_"

De Gollyer, somewhat shamefaced, avoiding his angry glance, said
hastily:

"So, so, I was quite wrong. I beg your pardon."

"_Ideally_ happy," continued Lightbody, more insistently. "We had the
same thoughts, the same tastes, we read the same books. She had a mind,
a wonderful mind. It was an _ideal_ union."

"The devil, I may be all wrong," thought De Gollyer to himself. He
crossed his arms, nodded his head, and this time it was with the
profoundest conviction that he repeated:

"You adored her."

"I _adored_ her," said Lightbody, with a ring to his voice. "Not a word
against her, not a word. It was not her fault. I know it's not her
fault."

"You must go away," said De Gollyer, touching him on the shoulder.

"Oh, I must! I couldn't stand it here in this room," said Lightbody
bitterly. His fingers wandered lightly over the familiar objects on the
desk, shrinking from each fiery contact. He sat down. "You're right, I
must get away."

"You're dreadfully hard hit, aren't you?"

"Oh, Jim!"

Lightbody's hand closed over the book and he opened it mechanically in
the effort to master the memory. "This book--we were reading it last
night together."

"Jack, look here," said De Gollyer, suddenly unselfish before such a
great grief, "you've got to be bucked up, boy, pulled together. I'll
tell you what I'll do. You're going to get right off. You're going to be
looked after. I'll knock off myself. I'll take you."

Lightbody gave him his hand with a dumb, grateful look that brought a
quick lump to the throat of De Gollyer, who, in terror, purposely
increasing the lightness of his manner, sprang up with exaggerated
gaiety.

"By Jove, fact is, I'm a bit dusty myself. Do me good. We'll run off
just as we did in the old days--good days, those. We knocked about a
bit, didn't we? Good days, eh, Jack?"

Lightbody, continuing to gaze at the book, said:

"Last night--only last night! Is it possible?"

"Come, now, let's polish off Paris, or Vienna?"

"No, no." Lightbody seemed to shrink at the thought. "Not that, nothing
gay. I couldn't bear to see others gay--happy."

"Quite right. California?"

"No, no, I want to get away, out of the country--far away."

Suddenly an inspiration came to De Gollyer--a memory of earlier days.

"By George, Morocco! Superb! The trip we planned out--Morocco--the very
thing!"

Lightbody, at the desk still feebly fingering the leaves that he
indistinctly saw, muttered:

"Something far away--away from people."

"By George, that's immense," continued De Gollyer exploding with
delight, and, on a higher octave, he repeated: "Immense! Morocco and a
smashing dash into Africa for big game. The old trip just as we planned
it seven years ago. IMMENSE!"

"I don't care--anywhere."

De Gollyer went nimbly to the bookcase and bore back an atlas.

"My boy--the best thing in the world. Set you right up--terrific air,
smashing scenery, ripping sport, caravans and all that sort of thing.
Fine idea, very fine. Never could forgive you breaking up that trip, you
know. There." Rapidly he skimmed through the atlas, mumbling,
"M-M-M--Morocco."

Lightbody, irritated at the idea of facing a decision, moved uneasily,
saying, "Anywhere, anywhere."

"Back into harness again--the old camping days--immense."

"I must get away."

"There you are," said De Gollyer at length. With a deft movement he
slipped the atlas in front of his friend, saying, "Morocco, devilish
smart air, smashing colors, blues and reds."

"Yes, yes."

"You remember how we planned it," continued De Gollyer, artfully
blundering; "boat to Tangier, from Tangier bang across to Fez."

At this Lightbody, watching the tracing finger, said with some
irritation, "No, no, down the coast first."

"I beg your pardon," said De Gollyer; "to Fez, my dear fellow."

"My dear boy, I know! Down the coast to Rabat."

"Ah, now, you're sure? I think--"

"And I _know_," said Lightbody, raising his voice and assuming
possession of the atlas, which he struck energetically with the back of
his hand. "I ought to know my own plan."

"Yes, yes," said De Gollyer, to egg him on. "Still you're thoroughly
convinced about that, are you?"

"Of course, I am! My dear Jim--come, isn't this my pet idea--the one
trip I've dreamed over, the one thing in the world I've longed to do,
all my life?" His eyes took energy, while his forefinger began viciously
to stab the atlas. "We go to Rabat. We go to Magazam, and we
cut--so--long sweep, into the interior, take a turn, so, and back to
Fez, so!"

This speech, delivered with enthusiasm, made De Gollyer reflect. He
looked at the somewhat revived Lightbody with thoughtful curiosity.

"Well, well--you may be right. You always are impressive, you know."

"Right? Of course I'm right," continued Lightbody, unaware of his
friend's critical contemplation. "Haven't I worked out every foot of
it?"

"A bit of a flyer in the game country, then? Topple over a rhino or so.
Stunning, smart sport, the rhino!"

"By George, think of it--a chance at one of the brutes!"

When De Gollyer had seen the eagerness in his friend's eyes, the imps
returned, ironically tumbling back. He slapped him on the shoulder as
Mephistopheles might gleefully claim his own, crying, "Immense!"

"You know, Jim," said Lightbody, straightening up, nervously alert,
speaking in quick, eager accents, "it's what I've dreamed of--a chance
at one of the big beggars. By George, I have, all my life!"

"We'll polish it off in ripping style, regiments of porters, red and
white tents, camels, caravans and all that sort of thing."

"By George, just think of it."

"In style, my boy--we'll own the whole continent, buy it up!"

"The devil!"

"What's the matter?"

Lightbody's mood had suddenly dropped. He half pushed back his chair and
frowned. "It's going to be frightfully extravagant."

"What of it?"

"My dear fellow, you don't know what my expenses are--this apartment, an
automobile--Oh, as for you, it's all very well 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 himself.

De Gollyer smiled--a bachelor smile.

"Riches, my boy," he said, tapping him on the shoulder with the same
quick, awakening Mephistophelean touch.

The contact raised Lightbody from revery. He drew back, shocked at the
ways through which his thoughts had wandered.

"No, no, Jim," he said. "No, you mustn't, nothing like that--not at such
a time."

"You're right," said De Gollyer, instantly masked in gravity. "You're
quite right. Still, we are looking things in the face--planning for the
future. Of course it's a delicate question, terrifically delicate. I'm
almost afraid to put it to you. Come, now, how shall I express
it--delicately? It's this way. Fifteen thousand a year divided by one is
fifteen thousand, isn't it; but fifteen thousand a year divided by two,
may mean--" He straightened up, heels clicking, throwing out his elbows
slightly and lifting his chin from the high, white stockade on which it
reposed. "Come, now, we're men of the world, aren't we? Now, as a matter
of fact how much of that fifteen thousand a year came back to you?"

"My dear Jim," said Lightbody, feeling that generosity should be his
part, "a woman, a modern woman, a New York woman, you just said
it--takes--takes--"

"Twelve thousand--thirteen thousand?"

"Oh, come! Nonsense," said Lightbody, growing quite angry. "Besides, I
don't--"

"Yes, yes, I know," said De Gollyer, interrupting him, now with fresh
confidence. "All the same your whiskies have gone off, dear boy--they've
gone off, and your cigars are bad, very bad. Little things, but they
show."

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."

He lifted his glass until he felt its touch against his lips and
gradually set it down. "Why, Jim, in six years I've loved her so that
I've never done anything I wanted to do, gone anywhere I wanted to go,
drank anything I've wanted to drink, saw anything I wanted to see, wore
anything I wanted to wear, smoked anything I wanted to smoke, read
anything I wanted to read, or dined any one I wanted to dine! Jim, it
certainly has been a _domestic_ time!"

"Good God! I can't believe it!" ejaculated De Gollyer, too astounded to
indulge his sense of humor.

All at once a little fury seemed to seize Lightbody. His voice rose and
his gestures became indignant.

"Married! I've been married to a policeman. Why, Jim, do you know what
I've spent on myself, really spent? Not two thousand, not one thousand,
not five hundred dollars a year. I've been poorer than my own clerk. I'd
hate to tell you what I paid for cigars and whisky. Everything went to
her, everything! And Jim--" he turned suddenly with a significant
glance--"such a temper!"

"A temper? No, impossible, not that!"

"Not violent--oh, no--but firm--smiling, you know, but irresistible."

He drew a long breath charged with bitter memories and said between his
teeth, rebelling: "I always agreed."

"Can it be? Is it possible?" commented De Gollyer, carefully mastering
his expression.

Lightbody, on the new subject of his wrongs, now began to explode with
wrath.

"And there's one thing more--one thing that hurts! You know what she
eloped in? She eloped in a hat, a big red hat, three white feathers--one
hundred and seventy-five dollars. I gave up a winter suit to get it."

He strode over to the grotesquely large hat-box on the slender table,
and struck it with his fist.

"Came this morning. Jim, she waited for that hat! Now, that isn't right!
That isn't delicate!"

"No, by Jove, it certainly isn't delicate!"

"Domesticity! Ha!" At the moment, with only the long vision of petty
tyranny before him, he could have caught her up in his hands and
strangled her. "Domesticity! I've had all I want of domesticity!"

Suddenly the eternal fear awakening in him, he turned and commanded
authoritatively:

"Never tell!"

"Never!"

De Gollyer, at forty-two, showed a responsive face, invincibly, gravely
sympathetic, patiently awaiting his climax, knowing that nothing is so
cumulatively dangerous as confession.

Lightbody took up his glass and again approached it to his lips,
frowning at the thought of what he had revealed. All at once a fresh
impulse caught him, he put down his glass untasted, blurting out:

"Do you want to know one thing more? Do you want to know the truth, the
real truth?"

"Gracious heavens, there is something more?"

"I never married her--never in God's world!"

He ceased and suddenly, not to be denied, the past ranged itself before
him in its stark verity.

"She married me!"

"Is it possible?"

"She did!"

What had been an impulse suddenly became a certainty.

"As I look back now, I can see it all--quite clear. Do you know how it
happened? I called three times--not one time more--three times! I liked
her--nothing more. She was an attractive-looking girl--a certain
fascination--she always has that--that's the worst of it--but gentle,
very gentle."

"Extraordinary!"

"On the third time I called--the third time, mind you," proceeded
Lightbody, attacking the table, "as I stood up to say good-by, all at
once--the lights went out."

"The lights?"

"When they went on again--I was engaged."

"Great heavens!"

"The old fainting trick."

"Is it possible?"

"I see it all now. A man sees things as they are at such a moment."

He gave a short, disagreeable laugh. "Jim, she had those lights all
fixed!"

"Frightful!"

Lightbody, who had stripped his soul in confession, no longer was
conscious of shame. He struck the table, punctuating his wrath, and
cried:

"And that's the truth! The solemn literal truth! That's my story!"

To confess, it had been necessary to be swept away in a burst of anger.
The necessity having ceased, he crossed his arms, quite calm, laughing a
low, scornful laugh.

"My dear boy," said De Gollyer, to relieve the tension, "as a matter of
fact, that's the way you're all caught."

"I believe it," said Lightbody curtly. He had now an instinctive desire
to insult the whole female sex.

"I know--a bachelor knows. The things I have seen and the things I have
heard. My dear fellow, as a matter of fact, marriage is all very well
for bankers and brokers, unconvicted millionaires, week domestic animals
in search of a capable housekeeper, you know, and all that sort of
thing, but for men of the world--like ourselves, it's a mistake. Don't
do it again, my boy--don't do it."

Lightbody laughed a barking laugh that quite satisfied De Gollyer.

"Husbands--modern social husbands--are excrescences--they don't count.
They're mere financial tabulators--nothing more than social
sounding-boards."

"Right!" said Lightbody savagely.

"Ah, you like that, do you?" said De Gollyer, pleased. "I do say a good
thing occasionally. Social sounding-boards! Why, Jack, in one-half of
the marriages in this country--no, by George, in two-thirds--if the
inconsequential, tabulating husband should come home to find a letter
like this--he'd be dancing a _can-can_!"

Lightbody felt a flood of soul-easing laughter well up within him. He
bit his lip and answered:

"No!"