"That's Friday, and I positively refuse to be married on a Friday."
The Best Day of All
"Then the day before—that's Wednesday. You know the old rhyme says: 'Wednesday the best day of all.'"
So it was settled. Allan laughingly put down in his little red leather pocket diary, under the date of Wednesday, November twenty-fifth, "Miss Wynne's wedding." "Where is it to be?" he asked. "I wouldn't miss it for worlds."
"I've been thinking about that," said Eloise, slowly, after a pause. "I suppose we'll have to be conventional."
"Why?"
"Because everybody is."
"The very reason why we shouldn't be. This is our wedding, and we'll have it to please ourselves. It's probably our last."
"In spite of the advanced civilisation in which we live," she returned, "I hope and believe that it is the one and only wedding in which either of us will ever take a leading part."
"Haven't you ever had day-dreams, dear, about your wedding?"