"Father … is that your last word?" asked the girl earnestly.
"Yes!"
Pale and red by turns, she stood hardly seeming to breathe.
The old man's lips curved in a scornful smile. Olof stood waiting his sentence, unable to think or feel.
Then slowly the girl raised her head, seeming to tower over her surroundings. She raised her hands without a tremor, slipped the fastenings of her blouse, and almost before they could realise what she was doing, she stood bare-armed, bare-throated before them.
The smile faded from the old man's lips. Olof's heart beat with a wild delight—he felt an impulse to take the girl in his arms and carry her off.
Calmly she went on—unhooked her skirt and let it slip to the floor beside her blouse.
The old man's face was ashy pale. Olof turned his back in fury and disgust.
But the girl never flinched. Quietly she loosened the strings of her petticoat….
"Enough!" The old man's voice was like a cry from the underworld.