Oyvind
watched Marit dancing with the thick-haired man; she laughed over the
man's shoulder and her white teeth glistened. Oyvind felt a strange,
sharp pain in his heart for the first time in his life.
He looked longer and longer at her, but however it might be, it seemed
to him that Marit was now a young maiden. "It cannot be so, though,"
thought he, "for she still takes part with the rest of us in our
coasting." But grown-up she was, nevertheless, and after the dance was
ended, the dark-haired man pulled her down on his lap; she tore herself
away, but still she sat down beside him.
Oyvind's eyes turned to the man, who wore a fine blue broadcloth suit,
blue checked shirt, and a soft silk neckerchief; he had a small face,
vigorous blue eyes, a laughing, defiant mouth. He was handsome.
Oyvind looked more and more intently, finally scanned himself also; he
had had new trousers for Christmas, which he had taken much delight in,
but now he saw that they were only gray wadmal; his jacket was of the
same material, but old and dark; his vest, of checked homespun, was
also old, and had two bright buttons and a black one. He glanced
around him and it seemed to him that very few were so poorly clad as
he. Marit wore a black, close-fitting dress of a fine material, a
silver brooch in her neckerchief and had a folded silk handkerchief in
her hand.
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