"Would you mind if—I lighted a cigar?" he inquired. "I s'pose it's useless to offer you one. You don't care to receive anything at my hands."
Frank seated himself upon the edge of the bed.
"Smoke all you want," he said ungraciously. "No, I want nothing at your hands—except to be let alone."
Hendrie deliberately lit his cigar. For once it did not find its way to the corner of his hard mouth. He blew a thin stream of smoke from his pursed lips, and the action ended in the faintest possible sigh.
"I'm sorry," he said. Then he leveled his eyes directly into the other's. "I made you an offer months ago. You refused it then. I s'pose you still feel the same? It still stands."
Frank sat up, and his eyes lit.
"It can go on standing," he cried fiercely. "I tell you I want nothing from you. I suppose it is only the arrogance of your wealth makes you dare to offer me—me such compensation." He finished up with a laugh that had nothing pleasant in it.
"Dare?" Hendrie's bushy brows were raised mildly.
"Yes, dare!" There was something very like violence in the younger man's tone.
"I thought every man who does a wrong—unwittingly—has a right to make—reparation, not compensation."