CHAPTER XXXIII The next day they met for dinner at a little place near Washington Square where it was certain that none of Julia’s friends ever went. Julia was a singularly contented-looking criminal. Never, Ramon thought had her skin looked more velvety, her eyes deeper or more serene. He was a trifle haggard, but happy, and both of them were hungry. “Do you know?… I’ve made a discovery,” she told him. “I haven’t any conscience. I slept peacefully nearly all day, and when I waked up I considered the matter carefully … I don’t believe that I have any proper appreciation of the enormity of what I’ve done at all. I have always thought that if anything like this ever happened to me I would go off and chloroform myself, but as a matter of fact I have no such intention … of course, though, it was not my fault in the least. You’re so terrible!… I simply couldn’t help myself, and I don’t see what I can do now … that’s comforting. But one thing is certain. We’ve got to be awfully careful. Thank Heaven, mother and Gordon are still in Florida and they won’t dare to come North on Gordon’s account until it gets a good deal warmer. But we must be careful. I’m not sorry, like I should be, but I sure am scared.…” They sat for a long time after the meal, Ramon smoking a cigar, their knees touching under the table. He was filled with a vast contentment. He thought nothing of the troubled past, nor did he look into the obviously troubled future. He merely basked in the consciousness of a possession infinitely sweet. Now began for them a life of clandestine adventure. Julia had a good many engagements, but she managed to give him some part of every day. They never met in the hotel, but usually took taxicabs separately and met in out-of-the-way parts of that great free wilderness of city. Ramon spent most of the time when he was not with her exploring for suitable meeting places. They became patrons of cellar restaurants in Greenwich Village, of French and Italian places far down town, of obscure Brooklyn hotels. If the regular fare at these establishments was not all they desired, Ramon would lavishly bribe the head waiter, call the proprietor into consultation if necessary, insist on getting what Julia wanted. He spent his money like a millionaire, and usually created the general impression that he was a wealthy foreigner. Every morning he had flowers sent to Julia’s room. Often they would take a taxi and spend hours riding about the streets with the blinds drawn, locked in each others’ arms. For a week they were keenly, excitedly happy, living wholly in the joy of the moment. Then a flaw appeared upon the glowing perfect surface of their happiness. “When is your husband coming back?” he enquired once, when they were riding through Central Park. “I don’t know. In a week or two. Why?” “Because we must decide pretty soon what we’re going to do.” “Do? What can we do?”