“Haven’t you ever had day-dreams, dear, about your wedding?”

“Many a time,” she laughed.  “I’d be the rankest kind of polygamist if I had all the kinds I’ve planned for.”

“But the best kind?” he persisted.  “Which is in the ascendant now?”

[Sidenote:  An Ideal Wedding]

“If I could choose,” she replied, thoughtfully, “I’d have it in some quiet little country church, on a brilliant, sunshiny day—­the kind that makes your blood tingle and fills you with the joy of living.  I’d like it to be Indian Summer, with gold and crimson leaves falling all through the woods.  I’d like to have little brown birds chirping, and squirrels and chipmunks pattering through the leaves.  I’d like to have the church almost in the heart of the woods, and have the sun stream into every nook and corner of it while we were being married.  I’d like two taper lights at the altar, and the Episcopal service, but no music.”

“Any crowd?”

Her sweet face grew very tender.  “No,” she said.  “Nobody but our two selves.”

“We’ll have to have a minister,” he reminded her, practically, “and two witnesses.  Otherwise it isn’t legal.  Whom would you choose for witnesses?”

“I think I’d like to have Barbara and Roger.  I don’t know why, for I have so many other friends who mean more to me.  Yet it seems, some way, as if they two belonged in the picture.”

[Sidenote:  Right Now]

A bright idea came to Allan.  “Dearest,” he said, “you couldn’t have the falling leaves and the squirrels if we waited until Thanksgiving time, but it’s all here, right now.  Don’t you remember that little church in the woods that we passed the other day—­the little white church with maples all around it and the Autumn leaves dropping silently through the still, warm air?  Why not here—­and now?”

“Oh, I couldn’t,” cried Eloise.

“Why not?”

“Oh, you’re so stupid!  Clothes and things!  I’ve got a million things to do before I can be married decently.”

He laughed at her woman’s reason as he put his arms around her.  “I want a wife, and not a Parisian wardrobe.  You’re lovelier to me right now in your white linen gown than you’ve ever been before.  Don’t wear yourself out with dressmakers and shopping.  You’ll have all the rest of your life for that.”

“Won’t I have all the rest of my life to get married in?” she queried, demurely.

“You have if you insist upon taking it, darling, but I feel very strongly to get married to-day.”

“Not to-day,” she demurred.

“Why not?  It’s only half past one and the ceremony doesn’t last over twenty minutes.  I suppose it can be cut down to fifteen or eighteen if you insist upon having it condensed.  You don’t even need to wash your face.  Get your hat and come on.”

His tone was tender, even pleading, but some far survival of Primitive Woman, whose marriage was by capture, stirred faintly in Eloise.  “Our friends won’t like it,” she said, as a last excuse.