“Stupid of me, but I simply can’t think what it could have been.”

“I can—­now.”

Karslake looked askance at Sofia.

“Since I’ve heard so much Chinese spoken by the servants—­now I come to think of it”—­Sofia’s eyes grew bright with triumph—­“I’m sure it must have been Chinese you were speaking to the man I mean.”

“Impossible,” Karslake pronounced calmly.

“But you do know Chinese, don’t you?”

“Not a syllable.”

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 ...”

“Possibly preferred a secretary who couldn’t understand everything he said to the servants.  I’ve never pretended to know all Prince Victor’s secrets, you know.”

After a little pause Sofia asked gently:  “Did you really need the job so badly, Mr. Karslake?”

“To get it meant more to me than I can tell you—­almost as much as to hold on to it does to-day.”

Sofia turned her eyes away at this, and for the rest of the ride—­they were homeward bound from a matinee, having dropped Sybil Waring at her flat in Mayfair—­kept her thoughts to herself.

Only the most perfunctory civilities passed between them, in fact, until they had been ushered into the study by Nogam, who advised them that Prince Victor had ordered tea to be served there and had promised to be home in good time for it.

The tea service was already set out on a little table beside the fireplace in that room of secrets, whose normal atmosphere of brooding gloom was now the darker for the deepening dusk.  Only the tea itself remained to be served, a special rite never performed in that household by hands more profane than those of the major-domo, Shaik Tsin himself.  And this last could be counted upon not to put in appearance until Nogam took him word that Victor was waiting.

So, having laid aside her furs and satisfied herself, by a seemingly aimless but in fact exacting survey, that the abominable Sturm was not skulking anywhere in the shadows, Sofia established herself on a lounge that faced the fireplace, while Karslake stood before the fire, looking down with an expectant smile of which she was but half aware.

“Aren’t you going to forgive me?” he asked, quietly, after a time.