"No, no. No beggars here. Go away, child; go away."
"If you please, sir, I am not a beggar," said Nelly, with dignity. "I came upon business."
"Upon business!" returned Mr. Grayson, laying down his pen and turning round. "And what may be your business, child?"
"I am Mrs. Ryan's grand-daughter, that lives in College Street," said Nelly.
"And what may be your business, child?"
But Mr. Grayson interrupted her. "And you have come to beg your grandmother off, I suppose?—eh? Wasn't I right in saying you were a beggar?—eh?"
"No, sir," said Nelly, with a flush of colour in her cheek and a flash of her gray eyes. "I have got some money of my own, that I earned; and I thought I would ask you if you were willing to take that, and let us stay a while longer and try to pay the rest."
Mr. Grayson laid down his pen, and pushed his glasses up on his forehead to look at Nelly. He might have looked through all his pictures and not have seen any thing prettier or more attractive than the neat little figure before him.
"Come here, child," said he. "Don't be afraid. Come; I want to talk to you."