"Extradition?"
"Why! Why, they'll blow you up, or do something dreadful!"
"I suppose I'll have to. Donnelly is bent on arresting him, and I owe something to the memory of Mattel Savigno."
"You mustn't!" she exclaimed with a gravity quite surprising in her. "When Bernie told me what it might lead to, it frightened me nearly to death. He says this Mafia is a perfectly awful affair. You won't get mixed up in it, will you? Please!"
The girl who was speaking now was not the Myra Nell he knew; her tone of real concern struck him very agreeably. Beneath her customary mood of intoxication with the joy of living he had occasionally caught fleeting glimpses of a really unusual depth of feeling, and the thought that she was concerned for his welfare filled him with a selfish gladness. Nevertheless, he answered her, truly:
"I can't promise that. I rather feel that I owe it to Martel"
"He's dead! That sounds brutal, but—"
"I owe something also to—those he left behind."
"You mean that Sicilian woman—that Countess. I suppose you know I'm horribly jealous of her?"
"I didn't know it."