"The best proof I can give you of it."
I walked hastily to and fro, the narrow limits of the chamber, raising, at every step, a cloud of dust from folds of old, yellow parchment and musty rolls of paper, which had accumulated there for the last half century, and lay in a pile upon the floor. I was in no humour to listen to a lecture, particularly when my own faulty temper was to be the principal subject, and form the text. Harrison watched my movements for some time in silence, with a provokingly-amused air; not in the least discouraged by my wayward mood; but evidently ready for another attack.
"Prithee, Geoffrey, leave off raising that cloud of dust, disturbing the evil spirits which have long slumbered in yon forgotten pile of professional rubbish, and sit down quietly and listen to reason."
I felt annoyed, and would not resume my place beside him, but, assuming a very stately air, seated myself opposite to my tormentor on a huge iron chest, which was the only seat, save the bed, in the room; and then, fixing my eyes reproachfully upon him, I sat as stiff as a poker, without relaxing a muscle of my face.
He laughed outright.
"You are displeased with my bluntness, Geoffrey, and I am amused with your dignity. That solemn, proud face would become the Lord Chancellor of England."
"Hold your tongue, you tormentor; I won't be laughed at in this absurd manner. What have I done to deserve such a sermon?"
"'Vanity, vanity, all is vanity, saith the preacher,' and surely, Geoffrey, your vanity exceeds all other vanity. I hint at a fault, and point it out for correction. You imagine yourself perfection, and are up in arms in a moment. Answer me, seriously: do you ever expect to settle in life?"
"I have dared to cherish the forlorn hope."
"Forlorn as it is, you are taking the best method to destroy it."