"It's incredible."
"So much the worse for your theories of credibility. The longer I live,
the less the Show surprises me."
"What show?"
"Oh, it's too long to explain. Say Vanity Fair." Her thumb fell into its
old habit of flicking the table. There was a silence.
"I am sorry you told me," he said slowly.
"Why?"
A waiter loomed over them.
"Supper, Sir Robert?"
She glanced quickly at her companion.
"Yes," he said. "_Ma buonissima!_ I leave it to you. And champagne."
"_Prestissimo_, Sir Robert." He smirked himself off.
"Why does he call you that?" she asked.
"Oh, didn't you know my poor father was made a Baronet, after we
entertained Royalty?"
"No; how strange your lives should have been going on all the time!" The
pop of a cork at her elbow startled her. Then she lifted her frothing
glass. "Sir--to you!"