Rowles whistled doubtfully. He stood there in his shirt sleeves, with his thumbs in his waistcoat pockets, and his black straw hat pushed back on his head. His eyes were fixed on his niece's face with a gaze of inquiry, and a sort of dislike seemed to grow up in his heart and in hers. "Oh, very well," he said, at length. "Where's your box?" Juliet did not know what he meant. "Where's your box--your luggage?" "Haven't got any," said Juliet. "Then where's your Sunday frock?" "Haven't got one," said Juliet; "it's at the pawn-shop." Rowles whistled more fiercely. "I say, Emma, I'll be bound you found that fellow Mitchell in bed--now, didn't you?" "Yes, Ned, I did; because--" "I knew it. And I never knew any good come of lying in bed by day and sitting up at night to do your work, or pretend to do it." "But that is his business, Ned." "Then it is a bad business, say I." "And people must have morning papers. Besides, Thomas is ill." "And likely to be ill, I should say, sleeping by day and working by night." Mrs. Rowles drew her husband aside to tell him quietly the condition in which she had found his sister. He was softened by the sad story, but persisted in thinking that all Mitchell's misfortunes arose from the fact that he worked by night and slept by day. "It is going against nature," he said. "Why, the sun shows you what you ought to do. You don't catch the sun staying up after daylight or going down in the morning." "But the moon and stars are up by night," said Mrs. Rowles laughing. "The moon's a she; and as for the stars, they are little uns, and children are always contrary." Mr. Rowles grew good-tempered over his own wit, and at length allowed that Thomas Mitchell's mode of life was a necessary evil, but an evil all the same. Then he said that he had not had any idea that the Mitchells were badly off; he had only been to see them twice since their marriage, when they had appeared to be comfortable. And he had always supposed that money was to be had in London almost for the asking. In fact, he was one of the old-fashioned sort, and never troubled himself about London ways; and he did not think his sister's affairs any concern of his. But if Mary was so badly off, and it was a help to her to get Juliet out of the way, why Juliet might stay as long as she liked. One mouth more would not make much difference. He could not say fairer than that, could he? Mrs. Rowles was quite content with the fairness of his speech; and she went into the house, brought out from her cupboard some odds and ends for supper, and then lighted the lamp and called in her husband and the children. "Suppose you say grace, Juliet," said Mr. Rowles. He quite expected to find that she did not know what he meant. But she spoke the right words clearly and reverently. When they had nearly finished their supper, Rowles suddenly turned to Juliet, saying, "Your father has his supper along of your breakfast, don't he?"