She tried once to draw Karslake about this acquaintance of his, but
Karslake's memory proved unusually sluggish.
"No-o," he drawled after a tolerably long pause for thought--"can't say I
place the chap you mean, can't seem somehow to think back that far, you
know. One meets such a lot of people, first and last, they talk such a lot
of tosh--"
"But it couldn't have been only tosh you were talking," the girl persisted,
"because--_I_ remember--you were so keen about keeping what you said
secret, you spoke the strangest language together most of the time. I could
hear every word"--she had already explained about the freak acoustics of
the Cafe des Exiles--"and not one meant anything to me."
"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.
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