Gudmund.
I thank you. And how goes it with her? She thrives well in every way, I make no doubt?
Bengt.
Aye, you may be sure she does. There is nothing she lacks. She has five handmaidens, no less, at her beck and call; a courser stands ready saddled in the stall when she lists to ride abroad. In one word, she has all that a noble lady can desire to make her happy in her lot.
Gudmund.
And Margit—is she then happy?
Bengt.
God and all men would think that she must be; but, strange to say—
Gudmund.
What mean you?
Bengt.
Well, believe it or not as you list, but it seems to me that Margit was merrier of heart in the days of her poverty, than since she became the lady of Solhoug.
Gudmund.
[To himself.] I knew it; so it must be.
Bengt.
What say you, kinsman?
