None doughtier; that is what I say too.
Margit.
—if so be that you can win her to think kindly of you.
Bengt.
[Anxiously, and half aside.] Nay—nay, my dear wife—
Knut.
[Springing up.] Stands it so, Dame Margit! You think that your sister—
Bengt.
[Seeking to calm him.] Nay, nay, Knut Gesling! Have patience, now. You must understand us aright.
Margit.