"I mean, sir," he explained, reddening a little, "that I want you to have the money to use—now. We could talk about the conditions afterward and call them what you please. If I understood you correctly last night, you're in a tight place—a confoundedly tight place—"
"I am; but—don't be offended!—it seems to me you'd put me in a tighter."
"How's that?"
"I'VE DONE WRONG, BUT I'M WILLING TO PAY THE PENALTY"
"It's a little difficult to explain." He leaned forward, with one of his nervous, jerky movements, and fingered the glass containing the three chrysanthemums, but without taking his eyes from Davenant. So far he was quite satisfied with himself. "You see, it's this way. I've done wrong—very wrong. We needn't go into that, because you know it as well as I. But I'm willing to pay the penalty. That is, I'm ready to pay the penalty. I've made up my mind to it. I've had to—of course. But if I accepted your offer, you'd be paying it, not I."
"Well, why shouldn't I? I've paid other people's debts before now—once or twice—when I didn't want to. Why shouldn't I pay yours, when I should like the job?"
Davenant attempted, by taking something like a jovial tone, to carry the thing off lightly.
"There's no reason why you shouldn't do it; there's only a reason why I shouldn't let you."
"I don't see why you shouldn't let me. It mayn't be just what you'd like, but it's surely better than—than what you wouldn't like at all."