She could not tell him, the anguish was still too near. She bowed her head and sat in throbbing silence.
"Look here!" said Guy. "Don't!" He stooped lower over her, his dark face twitching. "Don't!" he said again. "Life isn't worth it. Life's too short. Be happy, dear! Be happy!"
He spoke a few words softly against her hair. There was entreaty in their utterance. It was as if he pleaded for his own self.
She made a little movement as if something had pierced her, and in a moment she found her voice.
"Life is so—difficult," she said, with a sob.
"You take it too hard," he answered rapidly. "You think too much of—little things. It isn't the way to be happy. What you ought to do is to grab the big things while you can, and chuck the little ones into the gutter. Life's nothing but a farce. It isn't meant to be taken—really seriously. It isn't long enough for sacrifice. I tell you, it isn't long enough!"
There was something passionate in the reiterated declaration. The clasp of his hand was feverish. That strange vitality of his that had made him defy the death he had courted seemed to vibrate within him like a stretched wire. His attitude was tense with it. And a curious thrill went through her, as though there were electricity in his touch.
She could not argue the matter with him though every instinct told her he was wrong. She was too overwrought to see things with an impartial eye. She felt too tired greatly to care.
"I feel," she told him drearily, "as if I want to get away from everything and everybody."
"Oh no, you don't!" he said. "All you want is to get away from Burke. That's your trouble—and always will be under present conditions. Do you think I haven't looked on long enough? Why don't you go away?"