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'It's all very well,' said Trevelyan, in a tone which seemed to imply
that to him in his present miserable condition all recreations,
exercises, and occupations were mere leather and prunella.
'I don't mean, you know, in the Alpine Club way, said Glascock. 'I'm
too old and too stiff for that. But when the path is good, and the air
not too cold, and when it is neither snowing, nor thawing, nor raining,
and when the sun isn't hot, and you've got plenty of time, and know
that you can stop any moment you like and be pushed up by a carriage, I
do think walking up a mountain is very fine if you've got proper shoes,
and a good stick, and it isn't too soon after dinner. There's nothing
like the air of Alps.' And Mr Glascock renewed his pace, and stretched
himself against the hill at the rate of three miles an hour.
'I used to be very fond of Switzerland,' said Trevelyan, 'but I don't
care about it now. My eye has lost all its taste.'
'It isn't the eye,' said Glascock.
'Well; no. The truth is that when one is absolutely unhappy one cannot
revel in the imagination.


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