SIMON. Yes, I’m quite alone in the house, except my godfather, who lives at the bottom of the garden.
FRANK. The surly old brute I met in the park?
SIMON. Yes, that’s godfather.
FRANK. Agreeable society! Well, I must teach myself resignation. (offering portmanteau) Go and prepare a chamber for me.
SIMON. You are labouring under a mistake, sir; the Golden Lion is on the other side of——
FRANK. Ah, true! you do not know me. I am Fra——(checking himself) No, I mean Harry Mitchell, your master’s grandson.
SIMON. Really! well, how lucky! I have a letter for your brother.
FRANK. For my brother Frank?
SIMON. Yes, here it is. (drawing a letter from his pocket) I have been ordered to post it.