"And your princess—is she at home, may I ask?"
"No!" Olof answers with an angry ring in his voice.
The woman marks it, and draws herself up, as if in answer to a challenge.
"Good! I've no business with her. But I've something to say to you. And maybe it's best for her she's away. She'd not be over pleased to see me, I fancy." The words shot like venom from her tongue—a sting from laughing lips.
Her callousness seems to freeze him—while his blood boils at the insult to Kyllikki. He is about to speak: "Say what you will, but not an evil word of her!"—when the woman goes on:
"Well, it's no good sitting here solemn as an owl! I just thought I'd look you up—it's a long time since we met, isn't it? Let's have a little talk together—talk of love, for instance. I've learned a deal about that myself since the old days."
Olof was all ice now—the bold, scornful look in her eyes, and her short, bitter laugh froze every kindlier feeling in him.
Then suddenly the scornful smile vanishes from her face.
"Curse you all!" she cries wildly. "Oh, I know what men are now!" She stamps her foot violently. "Beasts—beasts, every one of you—only that some wear horns and others not, and it makes but little difference after all….
"Ay, you may stare! You're one of them yourself—though maybe just so much above the ruck of them that I'm willing to waste words on you. Listen to me!" She springs to her feet and moves towards him. "I hate you and despise you every one. Oh, I could tear the eyes out of every man on this earth—and yours first of all!"