I don't see what I've done as you can complain of.' 'No, of course you don't,' pursued her mother bitterly.

'It's the money as prevents you from seeing it.

Them as was good enough for you before you haven't a word to say to now; a man as works honestly for his living you make no account of.

Well, well, you must go your own way--' 'What is it you want, mother?
You don't expect me to look no higher than when I hadn't a penny but what I worked for?
I've no patience with you.
You ought to be glad--' 'You haven't no patience, of course you haven't.

And I'm to be glad when a son of mine does things as he deserves to be sent to prison for! I don't understand that kind o' gladness.