"Why--why--" she faltered--"what--who are you and where are you taking me?"
"Oh, I beg your pardon!" said the young man, contritely. "I forgot. One
ought to introduce one's self before rescuing ladies in distress--but there
really wasn't time, you know. If you'll overlook the informality, my name's
Karslake, Roger Karslake, Princess Sofia, and I'm taking you to your
father."
V
HOUSE OF THE WOLF
This startling announcement Sofia received without comment and with a
composure quite as surprising. The life which had made her what she was, a
young woman singularly unillusioned, well-poised, and well-informed, had
brought out in her nature a strong vein of scepticism. She was not easily
to be impressed. The more remarkable the circumstance in question, the less
inclined was she to exclaim about it, the stronger was her propensity to
look shrewdly into the matter and find out for herself just what it was
that made it seem so odd.
She didn't repose much faith in those striking synchronizations which
apparently unrelated influences sometimes effect with related events, and
which we are accustomed to term coincidences. She distrusted their specious
seeming of spontaneity, she suspected a deep design behind them all.
For example: Up to the moment of her flight from the Cafe des Exiles there
had been, as Sofia saw it, nothing extraordinary or inexplicable in the
chapter of happenings which had made her acquainted, as abruptly as
tardily, with certain facts concerning her parentage.
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