“There are sure to be difficulties in the long run with Ekbacken—not a business man at all.”
Laura heard no more, for somebody had begun to hammer in the hall. For a moment she stood motionless. She felt a little sick from the smell of freshly scrubbed floors, which lingered in the dark passage. She suddenly felt the oppressiveness of the high dismal house again. For a fraction of a second a strange sensation of being in some way cheated shot through her. Then she became angry—exceedingly angry with Stellan and Peter. But she said nothing, she did not go in to them, but hurried down to Ekbacken to greet Herman and convince herself that he was still the same. She remained there so long that he grew anxious lest she should not have time to dress for the wedding.
Then the guests began to arrive. Stellan had managed to collect quite a fair number of fine folk. The dowager from Kolsnäs and her son were there. Lähnfeldt’s elegant carriage drove up to the door. But Percy Hill was abroad and was only represented by the fine old Dutch master he had sent as a wedding present. Peter’s contribution was a collection of the wealthiest customers of Selambshof. Herman had very few relatives left, except the two old aunts, who had been at the funeral and who looked very shy and plain.
Hedvig demonstratively put on a dark severe-looking frock and she spread a chill around her. Tord was not there. He did not go to bourgeois parties.
The marriage ceremony was to take place in the hall, which was decorated with all the bright autumn flowers the old gardener had been able to collect in the garden.
They had almost succeeded in concealing the shabbiness and gloom of the room. Laura was late. The clergyman had already had time to smell the dahlias three times before she appeared. Her expression had something of both defiance and anxiety, as if the guests had assembled there to amuse themselves at her expense. But Herman’s looks apologized both for the delay and for his having to stand on the right of his lady.
Laura’s voice sounded impatient when she answered her “yes.” It sounded as if she had been kept waiting at the booking office window before a long journey.
During dinner she was also nervous. She was silent, and emptied her glass absent-mindedly, and drummed with her fingers on the table during the clergyman’s speech. The speech was somewhat lugubrious. It seemed as if he had only two speeches to choose from, one for weddings and the other for funerals, and as if he had fallen on the wrong one.
Laura’s brothers were sitting opposite, further down the table. There was a challenging and hostile flash in her eyes, as she looked at them. She suddenly raised her glass to Peter, who looked like a dressed-up farmhand:
“Your health, Mr. Bailiff!” she said. “It feels queer to be in evening dress, doesn’t it?”