"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.