CHAPTER XVII
SUNRISE
On the following morning there was a reaction of good spirits in all the party.
The men went out early on the lake, and the ladies were enthusiastic over the trout they ate for breakfast in consequence. Harmless jests passed between the mothers; Helen Maynard lost somewhat of her reserve, and as for Betsy, her narrow face beamed upon everything and everybody indiscriminately as the party journeyed onward to the Canyon Hotel.
After luncheon they all drove to Inspiration Point, and looked upon the Grand Canyon, the sight of whose beauty is an epoch-making experience in the life of the most blasé.
The Grand Canyon in Arizona is larger, grander than perhaps any of the world’s physical wonders; but it is too colossal to be grasped. Its very distances are so vast that a bluish veil seems hung before its battlements and minarets, while its river, a mile below, might as well be cotton wool lying stationary in the depths. One sees without believing, and gasps without grasping. There is as much of awe as of joy in beholding the Arizona wonder.
But in the Yellowstone lies a revelation of beauty which bathes the soul in a dream of loveliness, so surpassing, so overwhelming, that it is inconceivable that one could receive more into the ecstatic consciousness. Majesty it has and impressive vastness; but not more than can rejoice the eye and thrill the heart.
When finally the party were returning to the hotel for dinner, Irving turned a grave face upon Betsy’s glowing countenance.
“You don’t seem to have anything on your mind,” he said.
“Not a thing,” she rejoined promptly.
“I wish I could wash my hands of the affair as easily,” he said crushingly.