"Of course," he continued, "I have wasted my time horribly--I have
never done any good in the world. But--great is the extenuating
circumstance! I never knew what life was until I saw it ... in your
eyes."
Still she stood with her back half turned towards him, looking out
across the sea. The sun had mastered the clouds and all the surface of
the water glittered. A few boats on the horizon seemed to dream and
sleep there. Beneath the dunes, the sand stretched away north and south
in an unbroken plain. The wind whispered through the waving grass, and,
far across the sands, the sea sang its eternal song. Dorothy and
Cornish seemed to be alone in this world of sea and sand. So far as the
eye could see, there were no signs of human life but the boats dreaming
on the horizon.
"Are you quite sure?" said Dorothy, without turning her head.
"Of what ...?"
"Of what you say."
"Yes; I am quite sure."
"Because," she said, with a little laugh that suddenly opened the gates
of Paradise and bade one more poor human-being enter in--"because it is
a serious matter ... for me."
Then, because he was a practical man and knew that happiness, like all
else in this life, must be dealt with practically if aught is to be
made of it, he told her why he had come. For happiness must not be
rushed at and seized with wild eyes and grasping hands, but must be
quickly taken when the chance offers, and delicately handled so that it
be not ruined by over haste or too much confidence.
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