Arvid tranquilly pocketed the insulting compliment.
"Why are your poems so melancholy?" asked a young beauty on the poet's right. "One might almost think you were suffering from an unhappy love-affair."
"Assessor Falk, allow me to drink your health," said the chief editor of the Grey Bonnet, from the left, stroking his long, blond beard. "Why don't you write for my paper?"
"I shouldn't think you would print my articles," replied Arvid.
"I don't see why we shouldn't."
"Our opinions differ so very widely...."
"Oh! That isn't half as bad as you think. One compromises. We have no opinions."
"Your health, Falk!" shouted the excited Lundell, from the other side of the table. "Your health!"
Levi and Borg had to hold him, otherwise he would have risen and made a speech. It was for the first time that Lundell was invited to a dinner of this sort, and the brilliant assembly and luxurious food and drink intoxicated him; but as all the guests were more or less merry, he fortunately excited no unpleasant attention.
Arvid Falk's heart beat faster at the sight of all these people who had readmitted him to their circle without asking for explanations or apologies. It gave him a sense of security to sit on those old chairs, which had been a part of the home of his childhood. With a feeling of melancholy he recognized the tall table-centre which in the old times had only seen daylight once a year. But the number of new people distracted him; their friendly faces did not deceive him; certainly they did not wish him evil, but their friendship depended on a combination of circumstances.