"Now, this is wonderful," he said, lighting a cigarette between courses and leaning forward, elbows on the cloth, and his hands clasped under his chin; "a good show, a good dinner, and good company. What surfeited monarch could ask more?"
"Why mention the company last, Clive?"
"I've certainly spoiled you," he said with a groan; "you've tasted adulation; you prefer it to your dinner."
"The question is do you prefer my company to the dinner and the show? Do you! If so why mention me last in the catalogue of your blessings?"
"I always mention you last in my prayers—so that whoever listens will more easily remember," he said gaily.
The laughter still made the dark blue eyes brilliant but they grew more serious when she said: "You don't really ever pray for me, Clive. Do you?"
"Yes. Why not?"
The smile faded in her eyes and in his.
"I didn't know you prayed at all," she remarked, looking down at her wine glass.
"It's one of those things I happen to do," he said with a slight shrug.