CHAPTER XVII

THE MISSING YEARS




"Why shouldn't life be always like this?" said Waymark, lying on the
upper beach and throwing pebbles into the breakers, which each
moment drew a little further hack and needed a little extra exertion
of the arm to reach them. There was small disturbance by people
passing, here some two miles up the shore eastward from Hastings. A
large shawl spread between two walking-sticks stuck upright gave, at
this afternoon hour, all the shade needful for two persons lying
side by side, and, even in the blaze of unclouded summer, there were
pleasant airs flitting about the edge of the laughing sea. "Why
shouldn't life be always like this? It might be--sunshine or
fireside--if men were wise. Leisure is the one thing that all
desire, but they strive for it so blindly that they frustrate one
another's hope. And so at length they have come to lose the end in
the means; are mad enough to set the means before them as in itself
an end."

"We must work to forget our troubles," said his companion simply.

"Why, yes, and those very troubles are the fit reward of our folly.
We have not been content to live in the simple happiness of our
senses. We must be learned and wise, forsooth. We were not content