"If we have the whole menu," I said, "I shall be ruined. You wouldn't like to have a ruined husband."
Celia took the list and went through it carefully.
"I might say 'Season,'" I suggested, "or 'Press.'"
"Well, to begin with," said Celia, "we needn't have a full choir."
"Need we have an organ or a choir at all? In thanking people for their kind presents you might add, 'By the way, do you sing?' Then we could arrange to have all the warblers in the front. My best man or my solicitor could give the note."
"Boys' voices only," decided Celia. "Then what about bells?"
"I should like some nice bells. If the price is 'per bell' we might give an order for five good ones."
"Let's do without bells. You see, they don't begin to ring till we've left the church, so they won't be any good to us."
This seemed to me an extraordinary line to take.
"My dear child," I remonstrated, "the whole thing is being got up not for ourselves, but for our guests. We shall be much too preoccupied to appreciate any of the good things we provide—the texture of the red carpet or the quality of the singing. I dreamt last night that I quite forgot about the wedding-ring till 1.30 on the actual day, and the only cab I could find to take me to a jeweller's was drawn by a camel. Of course, it may not turn out to be as bad as that, but it will certainly be an anxious afternoon for both of us. And so we must consider the entertainment entirely from the point of view of our guests. Whether their craving is for champagne or bells, it must be satisfied."