Dora Thorne

The consequences of folly seldom end with its originator, said Lord Earle to his son. Rely upon it, Ronald, if you were to take this most foolish and unadvisable step, you would bring misery upon yourself and every one connected with you. Listen to reason.
There is no reason in prejudice, replied the young man haughtily. You can not bring forward one valid reason against my marriage.
Despite his annoyance, a smile broke over Lord Earle's grave face.
I can bring a thousand reasons, if necessary, he replied. I grant everything you say. Dora Thorne is very pretty; but remember, she is quite a rustic and unformed beauty—and I almost doubt whether she can read or spell properly. She is modest and good, I grant, and I never heard one syllable against her. Ronald, let me appeal to your better judgment—are a moderate amount of rustic prettiness and shy modesty sufficient qualifications for your wife, who will have to take your mother's place?
They are quite sufficient to satisfy me, replied the young man.
You have others to consider, said Lord Earle, quickly.
I love her, interrupted his son; and again his father smiled.
We know what it means, he said, when boys of nineteen talk about love. Believe me, Ronald, if I were to consent to your request, you would be the first in after years to reproach me for weak compliance with your youthful folly.
You would not call it folly, retorted Ronald, his face flushing hotly, if Dora were an heiress, or the daughter of some—
Spare me a long discourse, again interrupted Lord Earle. You are quite right; if the young girl in question belonged to your own station, or even if she were near it, that would be quite a different matter. I am not annoyed that you have, as you think, fallen in love, or that you wish to marry, although you are young. I am annoyed that you should dream of wishing to marry a simple rustic, the daughter of my lodge keeper. It is so supremely ridiculous that I can hardly treat the matter seriously.