Part 42 (2/2)
”I don't know. I don't think it can be done.”
”I wondered if you couldn't do it and--deny our engagement.”
”Do you want to break it?” He could hardly keep the eagerness out of his voice.
”Oh, no! But I'd like to deny it until after the Carnival. Now don't be offended. I'll never get my dances filled if I'm as good as married to you. Imagine a queen with an empty programme. I just love you to pieces, of course, but I can't allow our engagement to interfere with the success of the Carnival, can I?”
”Don't you know this is a thing we can't joke about?”
”Of course I do. It has taught me a good 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 n.o.body'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 att.i.tude 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 a.s.sistance, 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 ident.i.ty, 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, and the dinner-hour was nearly over when he arrived at the cafe. Maruffi was there, as usual, but he had finished his meal and was playing cards with some of his countrymen, swarthy, eager-faced, voluble fellows whose chatter filled the place. They greeted Norvin politely as he seated himself near by, then went on with their amus.e.m.e.nt as he ordered and ate his dinner. He was near enough to hear their talk, and to catch an occasional glimpse of the game, so that he was not long in finding that they played for considerable stakes. They were as earnest as school-boys, and he watched their ever-changing expressions with interest, particularly when he discovered that Maruffi was in hard luck. The big Sicilian sat bulked up in a corner, black, silent, and sinister, his scowling brows bespeaking his rage. Occasionally he growled a curse, then sent the waiter scurrying with an order. Other Italians were drawn to the scene and crowded about the players.
When Norvin had finished his meal he sat back to smoke and idly sip his claret, thinking he would wait until the game broke up, so that he might get Caesar to himself and perhaps put the issue to the test. He began to study the fellow's face, thinking what force, what pa.s.sion lay in it, puzzling his brain for some means of enlisting that energy upon his side. But as fortune continued to run against Maruffi, he began to fear that the time was not favorable.
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