"I have my allowance," she said, her lips curling.
"Yes," said her father, "while you live at home and do as you're told."
"Now, papa, don't tell me that you're going to behave like a lugubrious parent in a novel! Don't tell me that you are going to cut me off with a shilling!"
"I shan't do that," he said gravely; "it will be without a shilling." But he tempered this savage statement with a faint smile.
"Papa, dear, is this quite definite? Are you talking in your right mind and do you really mean what you say?"
"Suppose you talk the matter over with your mother—she's always indulged you in every way. See what she says."
It developed that neither of Cynthia's parents was enthusiastic at the prospect of her marrying a nameless young man—she had told them his name, but that was all she got for her pains—who hadn't a penny and who had had consumption, and might or might not be sound again. Personally they did not believe that consumption can be cured. It can be arrested for a time, they admitted, but it always comes back. Cynthia's mother even made a physiological attack on Cynthia's understanding, with the result that Cynthia turned indignantly pink and left the room, saying:
"If the doctor thinks it's perfectly right and proper for us to marry I don't see the least point in listening to the opinions of excited and prejudiced amateurs."
The ultimatum that she had from her parents was distinct, final, and painful.
"Marry him if you like. We will neither forgive you nor support you."