Having said so much, however, he felt no further obligation, and went on sternly:
"I told you last time that I did not wish to see you again. What brings you here now?"
The words fell like strokes of an axe; the girl turned pale, and leaned against the wall.
"This," said Olof calmly. "When I spoke to you last time, matters did not pass off as they should. I beg your forgiveness for that. And now I have come to ask again for your daughter's hand."
"You—a wastrel…!" The old man's voice trembled with anger.
"I have been. But let us talk calmly, if you please."
"Lumberman!" The word was flung out with a bitterness and contempt that cut like a knife.
A dark flush rose to Olof's cheek; he was hard put to it already to control himself.
"True," he said, slowly and with emphasis. "I have been a lumberman. There are clodhoppers enough to ditch and plough, but good lumbermen are none so easy to find."
The old man raised his eyebrows, then lowered them again with an expression as of a beast about to spring.