For
the rest he went out but little, and except in the way of business
associated with very few. Indeed he grew more and more silent and
reserved, till at last he won the reputation of being cold and hard. Not
that he was really so. He threw himself head and soul into his work
with a fixed determination to reach the top of the tree. He knew that he
should not care very much about it when he got there, but he enjoyed the
struggle.
Geoffrey was not a truly ambitious man; he was no mere self-seeker.
He knew the folly of ambition too well, and its end was always clearly
before his eyes. He often thought to himself that if he could have
chosen his lot, he would have asked for a cottage with a good garden,
five hundred a year, and somebody to care for. But perhaps he would soon
have wearied of his cottage. He worked to stifle thought, and to some
extent he succeeded. But he was at bottom an affectionate-natured man,
and he could not stifle the longing for sympathy which was his secret
weakness, though his pride would never allow him to show it. What did he
care for his triumphs when he had nobody with whom to share them? All he
could share were their fruits, and these he gave away freely enough.
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