"No wonder you chucked diplomacy," Collingwood said.
"Oh! I didn't mind a fib or two for international reasons."
"I see," Collingwood rejoined. "Your conscience begins to prick you only when fibs are told for domestic purposes."
"Well, you see, you run much greater risks of being found out. It's awful to be found out in an ordinary lie—people make such a fuss of other people's lies."
"Do you mean to tell me that national lies are never found out?"
"Well, you see," Ellerdine replied—the discussion was getting a little bit beyond him, and again he struggled to find words,—"you see, national lies are not about persons." Then he shook his head. "I'm damned bad at it, Collingwood," he said in a final sort of voice. "I can't rely on my memory. I suppose there's no other way out of it?"
"My dear chap, none whatever," Collingwood said.
"'We all got on the wrong train,'" Ellerdine repeated to himself slowly in a sing-song voice; and then, looking up brightly, "Does seem easy, doesn't it?"
"Top hole," said Collingwood.
Thus encouraged, Lord Ellerdine began to repeat the second half of his lesson. "'We all stayed the night at this hotel.' There's something wrong with that."