“Life is short, Eusty!”
Miltoun's answer, given without movement, startled her:
“Persuade me that it is, Babs, and I'll bless you. If the singing of these larks means nothing, if that blue up there is a morass of our invention, if we are pettily, creeping on furthering nothing, if there's no purpose in our lives, persuade me of it, for God's sake!”
Carried suddenly beyond her depth, Barbara could only put out her hand, and say: “Oh! don't take things so hard!”
“Since you say that life is short,” Miltoun muttered, with his smile, “you shouldn't spoil it by feeling pity! In old days we went to the Tower for our convictions. We can stand a little private roasting, I hope; or has the sand run out of us altogether?”
Stung by his tone, Barbara answered in rather a hard voice:
“What we must bear, we must, I suppose. But why should we make trouble? That's what I can't stand!”
“O profound wisdom!”
Barbara flushed.
“I love Life!” she said.