Now she persuaded herself that she understood Rendalen's theory of life and work among them. She did not understand, or rather did not think about, the reasons for his restless moods, his want of steadfastness; her image of this "energetic" nature was not disturbed by them. She loved him. There was no other word for it. There was nothing that she would not do for him if she could, and it was thus that she expressed herself, first to her dearest friends, then to her next dearest, then to those next to them. With unflagging energy the same story, to the same tune, was repeated for the twentieth time to the last of her chain of friends before the next day was past. Such enthusiasm was infectious; those who had not raved about Tomas Rendalen before, raved about him now. Notwithstanding the red hair, the freckled skin, the broad nose, and pale screwed-up eyes, the absence of eyebrows, the restless expression--he was an ideal man! He damped their ardour a little when he came into the classrooms and strode past the forms, without looking at a single one of them; or when he hastily pitched upon something which interfered with the lesson, with such violence as to make them jump! for he was not to be trifled with! He nevertheless became their ideal again as soon as he was gone, or, better still, if he were in the humour for teaching, and stayed and took part in it, in his clear energetic style. He had not his equal then. But just because there was one Tomas Rendalen, it naturally happened that some of the weaker natures began to reflect: "Good heavens, he is only one, and there are so many of us." Yes, there was the question. We will not say who they were, or how many there were, who began to feel this doubt. The question is the smallest part of the affair; it is the answer which is the serious matter. The answer! For we may as well confess, soon as late, that some of the girls had gone a little beyond themselves that evening, when they all said "yes" to Tinka Hansen's high-minded views and Nora's proposition. These ones acknowledged afterwards that when one came to think quietly about the one whom one almost loves, or at least would willingly be loved by, and even if one knows that he has already ... Yes, the old Kurt town was a terrible place for scandals. One at last begins to doubt the sincerity of these expressions. Might not the young man in question, no matter what he had done, be depended upon, when he had promised _her_ anything? And when she had made him a promise in return, of course he might! He would be a good boy, that he would, if only she got hold of him. One cannot live upon grand theories.