"Cheer up, Dicky!" she said to Lord Ellerdine; "you've been in many a worse fix than this."
The diplomatist looked at her for a moment, his whole silly—but somehow distinguished—face covered with a sort of desperate cheerfulness.
"Worse!" he said. "I should say so. I don't mind gettin' into a 'fix,' as you call it."
"Then what in the world are you grumbling about?" Lady Attwill asked.
"Why, how am I going to get out of it? Any fool can get into a fix—any time. It's gettin' out—what? That's the bally riddle, Alice—gettin' out of it. What?"
Lady Attwill went up to him and dug him confidentially in the shoulder with one pretty gloved thumb.
"Look here, Dicky," she said; "now, did I ever fail you?"
"Oh no, no. You've always been pretty good."
"Now, haven't I got you out of many a scrape?"
Lord Ellerdine seemed to think—that is to say, call upon the resources of a somewhat attenuated memory. "Yes," he replied; "not so confounded many—only two; and—yes—well, of course, that other one was rather awkward."