The Ladies Lindores by Margaret Oliphant

The profoundest of the many wounds inflicted upon Lord Lindores, at this terrible period of his life, was that which he thus received at the hands of Rintoul: it was so altogether unexpected, so unlike anything that he had imagined of his son, so sudden, that it took away his breath. For the first moment he could not speak in the bitterness of his disappointment and outraged expectations. Rintoul had always been the strictly reasonable member of his family -- he had never given in to any sentimental nonsense. His reasoning had all been upon substantial data, and led to distinct conclusions. He had not looked at things in any visionary way, but as they were contemplated by the world in general. From the point of view of personal advantage and family progress, nothing could have been more judicious or sound than his opinions in respect to Carry and Edith. He had supported the Tinto marriage (which had on the whole turned out so well, better than could have been hoped -- the man, the only objectionable feature in it, being now dead and out of the way, and all the substantial advantages secured) quietly but firmly. He had been very earnest about Millefleurs. It was no fault of his if that arrangement had proved unsuccessful. In all these concerns, Lord Lindores had found his son his right hand, supporting him steadily. He could not help reminding him of this now, after the first outburst of his wrath and mortification. "You," he said at length, "Rintoul! I have been prepared for folly on the part of your sisters, but I have always felt I had a tower of strength in you."

"There is no difference in me," said Rintoul -- "I should be just as ready to back you up about the girls as ever I was; but if you will recollect, I never said a word about myself. I consider it as our duty to look after the girls. For one thing, they are not so well qualified to judge for themselves. They see things all from one side. They don't know the world. I wouldn't let them sacrifice their prospects to a bit of silly sentiment; but I never said a word about myself. That's different. A man has a right to please himself as to who he's going to marry, if he marries at all. Most fellows don't marry at all -- at least it's usual to say so; I don't know that it's true. If you'll remember, when you spoke to me of Lady Reseda, I never said anything one way or another. I have never committed myself. It has always been my determination in this respect to take my own way."