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.