“You could probably get back to the home of Mrs. Widdicombe. That isn’t so far away.”
She answered, bluntly, “I shouldn’t think of it!”
He made another proposal without much enthusiasm.
“Then I’d better walk in to Washington and get a cab and come back for you.”
She was even blunter about this: “I shouldn’t dream of that. You’re a wreck, too.”
He lied pluckily, “Oh, I shouldn’t mind.”
“Well, I should! And I don’t fancy the thought of staying here alone with that driver.”
He smiled in the dark at the double-edged compliment of implying that she was safer with him than with the driver. But she did not hear his smile.
She apologized, meekly: “I’ve got you into an awful mess, haven’t I? I usually do make a mess of everything I undertake. You’d better beware of me after this.”
His “I’ll risk it” was a whole cyclopedia of condensed gallantry.