You speak quite plain enough to be understood, Varden.

It's very kind of you to adapt yourself to my capacity, I am sure.' 'Tut, tut, Martha,' rejoined the locksmith; 'don't take offence at nothing.

I mean, how strange it is of you to run down volunteering, when it's done to defend you and all the other women, and our own fireside and everybody else's, in case of need.' 'It's unchristian,' cried Mrs Varden, shaking her head.
'Unchristian!' said the locksmith.

'Why, what the devil--' Mrs Varden looked at the ceiling, as in expectation that the consequence of this profanity would be the immediate descent of the four-post bedstead on the second floor, together with the best sitting-room on the first; but no visible judgment occurring, she heaved a deep sigh, and begged her husband, in a tone of resignation, to go on, and by all means to blaspheme as much as possible, because he knew she liked it.
The locksmith did for a moment seem disposed to gratify her, but he gave a great gulp, and mildly rejoined: 'I was going to say, what on earth do you call it unchristian for?
Which would be most unchristian, Martha--to sit quietly down and let our houses be sacked by a foreign army, or to turn out like men and drive 'em off?
Shouldn't I be a nice sort of a Christian, if I crept into a corner of my own chimney and looked on while a parcel of whiskered savages bore off Dolly--or you ?' When he said 'or you,' Mrs Varden, despite herself, relaxed into a smile.

There was something complimentary in the idea.