Sofia opened her lips to protest, but delayed to study Karslake’s face intently. He didn’t try to escape her scrutiny, he even seemed to court it; but there was a curious, quizzical look in his eyes, those half-smiling lips had a whimsical droop.
“Mr. Karslake!” Sofia announced, severely, “you’re fibbing.”
“Nice thing to say to me.”
“You do speak Chinese—confess.”
“My dear Princess Sofia,” Karslake protested: “if I had known one word of Chinese I could never have landed my job with your father.”
“Why not?”
“He expressly stipulated that I should be ignorant of that language.”
“What a silly condition to make!”
“Still, I daresay Prince Victor had his reasons.”
“I can’t imagine what ...”