[MARGIT enters from the left, richly dressed.
GUDMUND.
[Going to meet her.] Margit—my dear Margit!
MARGIT.
[Stops, and looks at him without recognition.] Your pardon, Sir Knight; but—? [As though she only now recognized him.] Surely, if I mistake not, 'tis Gudmund Alfson.
[Holding out her hand to him.
GUDMUND.
[Without taking it.] And you did not at once know me again?
BENGT.
[Laughing.] Why, Margit, of what are you thinking? I told you but a moment agone that your kinsman—