I knocked at the door of the study, and, receiving no answer, opened it and looked in. My grandfather never raised his eyes from his book. Unwilling to disturb him, I entered quietly, and, without speaking, sat down by the window. It was a broad, arched casement, partly veiled with ivy hanging down from above, and facing a magnificent avenue of beech trees that stretched far on into the park. They communicated some of their solemn gloom to the apartment; and the contrast of that green woodland aspect with the dusty tomes and air of venerable learning within; of that solitary look out, and of the quiet, white-headed figure bending so intently over its open volume, struck me. "There is a pretty picture for Cornelius," I thought. "I must bear every detail of it in my mind's eye to tell him when we meet." The contrast recalled me to the object of my presence in my grandfather's apartment. I coughed gently; Mr. Thornton started, looked up, and said, "Ah!" with evident astonishment. I looked at him quietly. "Well!" he ejaculated. "Yes," I replied. "Yes what?" he asked, impatiently. I thought I might have asked, "Well what?" with as much reason; but I merely said: "Yes, Sir, I am here." "What for?" "To speak to you, if you please." "What about?" "Is there any lady in the house besides myself?" "No." "Is there to be?" "No." "Am I to keep house?" "Mrs. Marks is my housekeeper." "Then what am I to do?" "Nothing." This was not encouraging; but I persisted. "Then there is nothing for me to do?" "Nothing." "Are you quite sure?" I asked, earnestly. He gave me a surprised look. I continued: "Are you quite sure I cannot be of any use to you, Sir?" "Of none," was his somewhat contemptuous reply. "Well then," I rejoined, with great alacrity, "as I am not to keep house, not to do anything, don't you think, Sir, you had better send me back to Mr. and Miss O'Reilly? You know," I added, impressively, "that I must be of some expense to you here, whereas with them, I should cost you nothing at all; and, though it was very kind of you to think of me, I assure you they did not find me in the way." My grandfather drew in a long breath, and, folding his arms, looked at me from head to foot. "So you are not an hour here, and you already want to be off," he said. "But since you don't want me--" I remonstrated. "I beg your pardon--I do want you," he replied, with ironical politeness; "and the proof I do want you, is, that I have taken the trouble of procuring you, and that I mean to keep you." He spoke as if I were a piece of furniture. I felt very indignant, and reddening, asked: "May I know, Sir, what you want me for?" "No," was the laconic and decisive reply. "Am I to stay here whether I like or not?" "Precisely." "I shall appeal to Mr. O'Reilly," I exclaimed indignantly.