To right and left the gaze rested on snow-clad heights, rocky buttresses, sharp needles; all the fantastic wildness of bristling and icy arêtes; of rocky mountain-sides, seamed with gullies; of snowy mountain-sides, broken by outcrops of bare rock; of hanging glaciers, glittering in sunshine. Peak lay beyond peak; snow-field stretched beyond snow-field. To Doris this wonderful tableau brought a sense of joy; not gay delight, but solemn uplifting rapture.
"It's beyond words," she said. "It is—sublime. But that doesn't explain. Words don't seem strong enough."
"There are things that can only be felt, not said."
"I think I meant that. It is the width—the greatness—the immensity! All earth and sky and heaven. Nothing small or puny. Don't you feel as if you didn't want ever to go back to the paltriness of everyday life?"
"Is everyday life paltry?"
"Compared with—" Her glance swept the scene.
"Even compared with this. It all depends on what one lives for?"
"You mean—doing things for other people. But they are such tiny things. This is so grand—so vast! It seems to lift up one's whole being."
"If you were here always, the force of first impressions would fade. And that question would still push its way to the front."
"The question—what one lives for—do you mean?"