“Umph,” grunted her husband—“but she’s gone on the trams, which is next bad to it. Now if she’d gone maaking munititions....”
“Trams is better than munititions.”
“No it aun’t. Fine ladies and duchesses maake munititions, but I never saw a duchess driving a tram.”
“Ivy ull never drive a tram—she’d be killed, surelye.”
“Best thing she cud do for herself now she’s disgraced us all—a darter of mine on the trams, a good yeoman’s darter on the trams ... ’tis shameful.”
“But ’tis honest, Maaster—better nor if she’d run away wud a man.”
“Maybe—but ’tis shameful honest. I’m shut of her!”
“Oh, Ned!—our girl!”
“Your girl!”
“You cruel, unnatural faather!”