The two took off their bonnets to her, Dirk van Goorl revealing in the act a head of fair hair beneath which his steady blue eyes shone in a rather thick-set, self-contained face.

Lysbeth's temper, always somewhat quick, was ruffled, and she showed it in her manner.
"I thought, cousins, that we were to meet at three, and the kirk clock yonder has just chimed half-past," she said, addressing them both, but looking--not too sweetly--at Dirk van Goorl.
"That's right, cousin," answered Pieter, a pleasant-faced and alert young man, "look at _him_, scold _him_, for he is to blame.

Ever since a quarter past two have I--I who must drive a sledge in the great race and am backed to win--been waiting outside that factory in the snow, but, upon my honour, he did not appear until seven minutes since.

Yes, we have done the whole distance in seven minutes, and I call that very good skating." "I thought as much," said Lysbeth.

"Dirk can only keep an appointment with a church bell or a stadhuis chandelier." "It was not my fault," broke in Dirk in his slow voice; "I have my business to attend.