And such a dinner they had! Oysters and champagne to start with, game of some sort, and claret—it was a banquet to eclipse even the betrothal feast at Prois's; to which last, it is true, she had not been invited—but he should repent it, the supercilious old sweep!
Heidt's friends, too, proved most entertaining company, especially the one who, it appeared, was a poet; he had a store of anecdotes to make one split one's sides with laughing, and Heidt himself was in high spirits. He drank with her, and said, "Your health, mother-in-law," and the others joined in with congratulations. Cilia could not help laughing, though she was inclined to consider it rather too much of a joke. Still, it was all done in such a jovial, irresistible fashion that she let it pass.
After the coffee, the whole party set out to make purchases. First, glassware. Heidt thought it was a good idea to begin with glasses after dinner; one was more in the mood for it, he declared. An elegant service of cut-glass, with the monogram "S. & C. B." was ordered. Cilia hesitated a little at the delicate, slender-stemmed wine-glasses, which she declared would "go to smithereens" in a "twinkling" at the first washing-up, but was assured that this was the essence of good taste in such matters, and finally gave in.
Then came the furniture for the "salon" as Heidt called it. But when Cilia found herself tentatively seated on a sofa with a hard, straight back reaching half-way up the wall, she could not help thinking that the old one at home was really more comfortable; a thing like this seemed made to sit upright in, and as for lying down——! The others, however, declared it elegant and "stylish," with which she felt she must agree, and the sofa was accordingly noted. Various so-called "easy-chairs," which to Cilia's mind were far from easy, were then added. A round settee with a pillar rising from the centre was to crown the whole. Cilia had never seen such an arrangement before, and was rather inclined to leave it out. But the dealer explained, "You place the article in the centre of the apartment, under a chandelier. A palm is set on the central pillar—and there you are!"
"Wouldn't a nice geranium do instead?" asked Cilia confidentially.
"Well—ah—oh, certainly, yes," said the man, and Cilia agreed.
"Then there are works of art," said Heidt. "No truly cultured home can be without them." And he invited Cilia to contemplate a life-size terra-cotta Cupid. It was terribly expensive, and she did not really approve of "stark-naked boys" as a decorative motif, but Heidt and his friends agreed that it was a "triumph of plastic beauty," and a work of art such as no one in Strandvik had ever seen, far less possessed. And Cilia took the Cupid with the rest.
"Now we're all complete," said Heidt, "and I'll answer for it, a more recherché little interior than Shipowner Braathen's it will be hard to find." And Cilia saw in her mind's eye Lawyer Nickelsen and the Magistrate himself abashed and humbled before all this magnificence.
As for Prois and Holm Berg—poor things, they had never dreamt of anything like it.
When they got home, Cilia could not help feeling that it had been rather a costly outing—but what matter? The vessels were earning good money.