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Madam Rundholmen.
And a fine young man?
Stensgård.
Just so; now, answer me
Madam Rundholmen.
Mr. Stensgård, you can't be in earnest?
Stensgård.
You don't suppose I would jest on such a subject? Should you be disposed?
Madam Rundholmen.
Yes, that I am, the Lord knows! Oh, you dear, sweet
Stensgård.
[Recoiling a step.] What is this?
Madam Rundholmen.
Bother, here comes some one!
Ragna Monsen enters hastily, and in evident disquietude, from the back.
Ragna.
I beg your pardon—isn't my father here?
Madam Rundholmen.
Your father? Yes; no;—I—I don't know—excuse me
Ragna.
Where is he?
Madam Rundholmen.
Your father? Oh, he drove past here
