He shook his head and chuckled, as if laughing at his own overestimation.
"Cousin, it's not just you who looks down on me."
"It's not that I look down..."
"No need to comfort me."
Ole waved his hand: "You know? On the plane here, on the phone, my father thought I couldn't handle you. He said you're a true countess, while I'm just a playboy."
Ole tilted his head, mimicking the mocking tone of the banker: "Without the cloak of money and family, Miss Elina remains a noble lady. And you—Ole, my son, you're just a little boy who cries."
"How can a proud wild horse like Miss Elina be conquered by a weak and superficial man like you? Even with the best blended fruit puree and egg white feed in hand, she would rather chew on roadside grass and not give you a second glance."
"A proud wild horse... A proud wild horse, truly an interesting metaphor in every sense," the young man spoke resentfully, his tone forceful, filled with the shame and anger of rejection.
