MRS. WILMOT. Yes, and come begging off their mother as soon as they fall sick or out of work. And that uppish with it all!
MRS. NORBURY. Do you think I can get my girls to stay at home and give me a lift with the house of an evening? Not they. They've always something on that's more important than me. I'm nobody. And the money those girls spend on their clothes!
MRS. WILMOT. Time was when a man 'ud come straight home when he'd finished work and be satisfied with doing a bit in his garden. Most he'd ever think of, barring Saturday night of course, was one night a week at his club. Nowadays it's every night the same.
(Mrs. Metherell moves impatiently.)
MRS. NORBURY. I know. You did know where to lay your hand on them once, but there's no telling where they get to now.
MRS. WILMOT. It's all these picture shows and music halls.
MRS. METHERELL (roughly). It's all your own fault, Amy.
MRS. WILMOT. Why?
MRS. METHERELL. You let them put upon you.
MRS. NORBURY. I suppose you don't?