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."