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Updated: May 31, 2025
She tried once to draw Karslake about this acquaintance of his, but Karslake's memory proved unusually sluggish. "No-o," he drawled after a tolerably long pause for thought "can't say I place the chap you mean, can't seem somehow to think back that far, you know. One meets such a lot of people, first and last, they talk such a lot of tosh "
Sofia remarked that he eyed her uneasily. "My sainted aunt! Where did you get hold of that name?" "Isn't it my father's?" "Ye-es," the young man admitted, reluctantly; at least with something strongly resembling reluctance. "But he doesn't use it any more." "Why not?" Mr. Karslake was silent, thoughtful. Sofia felt that she had scored and with determination pressed her point.
It was known that at the time of his death he was a member of B Troop of the Sixth Regiment of United States Cavalry, and it was assumed that because of this fact Karslake was in financial difficulties and not upon good terms with his family.
"If anything should happen to Karslake now, it would break Sonia's heart, but..." "And after the part he played in that Vassilyevski show his lease of life wouldn't be apt to be prolonged by staying on in England." "I agree; but still !" sighed Duchemin, throwing himself heavily into a chair.
Athwart the field of her abstracted vision drifted the figure of young Mr. Karslake. She was barely conscious of it. He seated himself with plain premeditation directly opposite the caisse, staring openly. But Sofia did not heed him at all. An odd smile shadowed his lips, an expression half eager, half apprehensive; there was a hint of puzzlement in his scrutiny.
It was his part to be merely a mirror, to reflect rather than to feel, to be an instrument infinitely supple and unfailing, never an independent intelligence. Not otherwise could he count on holding his place in Victor's favour. "You were quicker than I hoped." "I had no trouble, sir," Karslake returned, cheerfully. "Things rather played into my hands."
Confused by the impact upon her perceptions of so much that was unexpected and bizarre, the girl looked round with an uncertain smile, and found Karslake watching her with a manner of peculiar gravity and concern. "Prince Victor is an extraordinary man," Karslake replied to her unspoken comment; "probably the most learned Orientalist alive.
'Fraid you'll have to ask him, Princess Sofia." Genuinely diverted by the cross-examination, he awaited with unruffled good humour the next question to be put by this amazingly collected and direct young person. But Sofia hesitated. She didn't want to be rude, and Karslake seemed to be telling a tolerably straight story; still, she couldn't altogether believe in him as yet.
The light, that is to say the absence of it in true sense, the angle of view, and the distance, all had conspired to prevent her from making sure that neither her father nor Karslake were of those four whose broken bodies cluttered the street. But the fear and uncertainty were maddening.... She wheeled suddenly toward the door: the ancient stairs were creaking beneath a measured tread.
In the open doorway the man turned and looked back, not at her, but at Karslake, as if of half a mind to return and say something more to the younger man. But he didn't. He never came back. Sofia dated from that afternoon the first stirrings of a discontent which grew in her throughout the summer till everything related to her lot seemed abominable in her sight.
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