"Well, why not a white cardboard box, then?"
"No power on earth shall induce me to stand on Waterloo Station platform dandling a white cardboard box," I cried. "Waterloo indeed! It would be my Austerlitz, my Jena. I should never dare to read the works of 'Man about Town' again. Besides, what about my morning-coat?"
"Well, I could pin the tails of it up inside if you like. Or what about wearing an overcoat?"
"Your first suggestion makes me despair of women's future position in the economic sphere. The second I would consider if I could settle the hat problem."
And still thinking hard I rang up William.
"I suppose you couldn't possibly cancel this wedding of yours?" I asked when I had explained the impasse. Self-centred as usual, he flatly declined.
"Honestly, I don't see the difficulty at all," he went on. "I expect you'll look a bit of a mug anyhow, and probably there'll be lots of people on the platform dressed in morning-coats and top-hats."
"Nobody leaves London on a Saturday morning wearing top-hats," I assured him, "nobody. If I were coming in to London it would be quite a different matter. I might be an officer in the Guards, or M. Krassin proceeding to a deputation in Downing Street; but going out—no. Look here, why not make it a simple country wedding—sports coats and hayseed in the hair, and all that sort of thing?"
"Spats and white vest-slips will be worn by all the more prominent guests," he replied firmly.
"Well, hang it, have the thing in London, then," I implored, "and I'll promise to add the price of the return-fare to the cost of your wedding present."