Chancellor. Samuel, give me the red ink.—[Writes.] So, so—£.10,000, at John Frederick Rose's.
Lewis. May I ask why that name strikes you so much?
Chancellor. For important reasons.
Lewis. You think——
Chancellor. That your property is not in the best hands, my dear Sir. Rose is rather in a ticklish situation just now.
Lewis. I may lose it then!
Chancellor. Not you exactly, but your worthy tutor might suffer. [Looks at the back of the paper.] Aye, aye; many drawbacks too—you are not the best manager, my good friend.
Lewis. I know it, my Lord.
Chancellor. Overcharged besides by your honest guardian now and then. I am a plain, sincere man. Speak freely—the valuable furniture—the plate—is there any regular inventory?
Lewis. No, my Lord. It was in the will.