“Olga cut my hair, if you want to know.” Yes, Olga, who might one day be the wife of Frederik Mack; she had cut his hair. Rolandsen was not inclined to hide the fact; on the contrary, it was a thing to be blazoned abroad. “Olga, did you say?” “Well, and why not? Her father couldn’t.” “I’m tired of your goings-on,” said Jomfru van Loos. “Don’t you be surprised if you find it’s all over between us one fine day.” Rolandsen stood thinking for a moment. “Why, perhaps that would be best,” he said. “What!” cried Jomfru van Loos. “What’s that you say?” “I say you’re clean out of your senses in the spring. Look at me now; did you ever see the least little restlessness about me in the spring?” “Oh, you’re a man,” she answered carelessly. “But, anyhow, I won’t put up with this nonsense about Olga.” “This new priest--is he rich?” asked Rolandsen. Jomfru van Loos wiped her eyes and turned sharp and sensible all at once. “Rich? As far as I can see he’s as poor as can be.” Rolandsen’s hope was shattered. “You should see his clothes,” she went on. “And her’s. Why, some of her petticoats.... But he’s a wonderful preacher. Have you heard him?” “No.” “One of the wonderfullest preachers I’ve ever heard,” says Jomfru van Loos in her Bergen dialect. “And you’re quite sure he’s not rich?” “I know this much; he’s been up to the store, and asked them to let him have things on credit from there.” For a moment Rolandsen’s world was darkened, and he turned to go. “Are you going?” asked Jomfru van Loos. “Why, yes. What did you want with me, anyway?” So that was the way he took it! Well, now ... Jomfru van Loos was already some way converted by the new priest, and strove to be meek and mild, but her nature would break out now and again. “You mark my words,” she said. “You’re going too far.” “All right!” said Rolandsen. “You’re doing me a cruel wrong.” “Maybe,” said Rolandsen coolly as ever. “I can’t bear it any longer; I’ll have to give you up.” Rolandsen thought this over once more. And then he said: “I thought it would come to this. But seeing I’m not God, I can’t help it. Do as you please.” “Right, then,” said she furiously. “That first evening up here in the wood--you weren’t in such a temper then. I kissed you, and never a sound you made then but the loveliest little squeak.” “I _didn’t_ squeak,” said Jomfru van Loos indignantly. “And I loved you for ever and ever, and thought you were going to be a fine particular joy. Ho, indeed!” “Never you mind about me,” she said bitterly. “But what’s it to come to with you now?” “Me? Oh, I don’t know. I don’t care now, anyway.” “For you needn’t imagine it’ll ever come to anything with you and Olga. She’s to have Frederik Mack.” Was she? thought Rolandsen. So it was common talk already. He walked away thoughtfully, and Jomfru van Loos went with him. They came down on to the road and walked on. “You look nice with your hair short,” she said. “But it’s badly cut, wretchedly badly cut.”