“And Karslake—”
“Has been guilty of nothing more treacherous than falling in love with Sofia.”
“Your daughter, Excellency!”
“The young woman seems content to call herself that.... Can’t say I blame Karslake.”
“But do you forgive him?”
“Ah, that is another matter. Mine is not a forgiving nature, Sturm—not even toward excessive shrewdness.”
Victor took up a docket of papers, and Sturm, mumbling an apology, gave himself up to jealous brooding till he forgot the broad hint he had received.
“If I can satisfy you that Nogam is untrustworthy—” he began, meaning to continue: Karslake will stand his proved accomplice.
But Victor would not let him finish. “Nothing could please me more,” he interrupted. “Do so, by all means—if you can—and earn my everlasting gratitude.”
Sturm questioned him with puzzled eyes.