Bengt.
[Laughing, to Gudmund, as he comes forward again.] See you well—Sir Bengt of Solhoug is the man to make the women fain of him. How short so e’er the space, my wife cannot abide to be without me. [To Margit, caressing her.] Content you; I shall soon be with you again.
[He goes out to the back.
Margit.
[To herself.] Oh, torture, to have to endure it all.
[A short silence.
Gudmund.
How goes it, I pray, with your sister dear?
Margit.
Right well, I thank you.