"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."