Chapter 18 - Page 2

lesson."

"What?"

"I'll never be engaged to another man."

"Well! I should hope not. Do you intend to marry me, Myra Nell?"

"I don't know. Sometimes I think I will, then again I'm afraid nobody'd ever come to see me if I did. I'll get old, like you."

"I'm not old."

"We'd both have gray hair and--I can't talk any more. Here comes Bernie with an armful of dresses and a mouthful of pins. If he coughs I'll be all alone in the world. No, you can't see me for a week. I don't even want to hear from you except--"

"What?"

"Well, the strain of dress-fitting is tremendous. I'm nearly always hungry--ravenous for nourishment."

"You mean you're out of candy, I suppose?"

"Practically. There's hardly a whole piece left. They've all been nibbled."

Blake did not know whether to feel amused or ashamed. He was relieved at the girl's apparent carelessness, yet this half-serious engagement had put Myra Nell in a new light. He could not think of their relations as really unchanged, and this was inevitable since his sentiment for her was genuine. The grotesqueness of the affair--even Myra Nell's own attitude toward it--seemed a violation of something sacred.

But nothing could subdue the joy he felt in his growing intimacy with Vittoria, whom he managed to see frequently, although she never permitted him to come to Oliveta's house. Little by little her reserve melted, and more and more she seemed to forget her intention of devoting herself to a religious life, while fears for her friend's safety appealed to the deep mother instinct which had remained latent in her.

She was unable, however, even with Oliveta's assistance, to put any information in his way, and Blake could think of no better plan than to try once more to sound Caesar Maruffi. If Caesar had really written the letters, it would be strange if he could not be induced to go farther, despite his obvious fear of Cardi. It was unbelievable that a man who knew so much about the Mafia was really in ignorance of its leader's identity, and Blake was convinced that if he acted diplomatically and seized the right occasion he could bring the fellow to unbosom himself.

Discarding all thought of his own safety, he went often to the Red Wing Club. But he found Caesar wary, and he dared not be too abrupt. Time and again he was upon the verge of speaking out, but something invariably prevented, some inner voice warned him that the man's mood was unpropitious, that his extravagant caution was not yet satisfied. He allowed the Sicilian to feel him out to his heart's content, and, at last, seeing that he made no real progress, he set out one evening resolved to risk all in an effort to reach some definite understanding.

He was delayed in reaching the foreign quarter,