He held out his hand.
Latimer looked at it for a second, then at him, his sallow face flushing darkly.
“You are offering me a good deal,” he said, “I scarcely know why—myself.”
“But you don’t take my hand, Latimer,” Baird said; and the words were spoken with a faint loss of colour.
Latimer took it, flushing more darkly still.
“What have I to offer in return?” he said. “I have nothing. You had better think again. I should only be a kind of shadow on your life.”
“I want nothing in return—nothing,” Baird said. “I don’t even ask feeling from you. Be a shadow on my life, if you will. Why should I have no shadows? Why should all go smoothly with me, while others——” He paused, checking his vehemence as if he had suddenly recognised it. “Let us be friends,” he said.