Who had egged Karslake on, as he had asserted, “to win her confidence,” leaving to him the choice of means to that end?
And—why?
The formulation of this question marked the turning point in Sofia’s descent toward the nadir of shame and anguish; from the moment its significance was clearly apprehended (but it took her long to reach this stage) the complexion of her thoughts took on another colour, and the smart of chagrin was soothed even as the irritation excited by critical examination of Victor’s conduct grew more acute.
Why should the self-styled author of her being have thought it necessary, or even wise or kind, to commission a paid employee to win his daughter’s confidence?
What had rendered the conquest of her confidence so needful in his sight?
What had made him think Sofia would prove loath to resign it to him, or more likely to give it to another?
Why had Victor hesitated to bid for her confidence with his own tongue, on his own merits?
One would think that, if he were her father—
If!
Was he?