"Never had to." The flippancy was quite obvious.
"No, you never had to—never had to do anything." There was another long silence, broken only by the nervous drumming of Roger's finger-tips on the edge of his chair. When Judith spoke again, her tone was tender, but with a vibrant note of determination which communicated itself fully even to her brother's apathetic faculties.
"Well, from now on, you're going to play the man. You're going to take care of yourself. You're going to have to do things."
"What do you mean?" All Roger's flippancy had vanished, and in its place was an almost comic anxiety.
"Just what I said, Roger lad. I shall support you no longer."
"You mean ... you're going to stop my allowance?" He was aghast at the possibility, and he made no effort to conceal his feelings. "Surely you can't be thinking of anything so—so—outrageous?" he demanded.
"But I am!" She tossed her head with a suggestion of defiance, and smiled. "You've done as you pleased for all your twenty-four years. Well, you can go on doing as you please—only you'll do it on your own money."
"But this money—my allowance—it isn't yours, you know," he expostulated, almost tearfully. "It's merely an idiotic will that gives you the disposal of it. What right have you got to get on your high horse and tell me what I must and mustn't do? Answer me that."
"No right, Roger," she said sadly. "Half of what we have is yours of course. But it's not yours till you're thirty—you know that. I couldn't give it to you now even if I wanted to. I'm not even obliged to give you an allowance. The two thousand, of course, you'll continue to get. I can't control that. But beyond...."
"Two thousand! What good will that do me? Do you think I can live on that?"