THE PAINTED MRS. PERRY
He was twenty.
She was thirty-five.
There was fifteen years difference between them.
And a great deal more.
Gordon was simple, even for twenty.
Mrs. Perry was complex, even for thirty-five.
He didn’t know anything.
She knew everything.
They were both good-looking.
He was good-looking, and he looked good.
She was good-looking, and she looked bad.
He had a healthy face, and a wholesome manner.
She had an unhealthy face, and an unwholesome manner.
He was absolutely natural.
She was absolutely artificial.
Until Gordon met Mrs. Perry, he had only known girls, school girls.
He had never known a woman, a woman-of-the-world.
Gordon had a man-friend.
The man-friend had a woman-friend.
The woman-friend was Mrs. Perry.
Gordon was at a cafe with the man.
The woman was there with another man.
Gordon and the woman were introduced.
They came, they saw, and they conquered.
He conquered her.
And she conquered him.
He had never seen anything quite so wonderful as this woman.
She fascinated him.
And she had never seen anything quite so wonderful as this boy.
He fascinated her.
She invited him to call on her.
He accepted the invitation.
And he called.
She had suggested nine P. M.
So at nine P. M. he came.
Mrs. Perry lived in her own house.
Gordon was ushered into the drawing-room.
The walls were hung with pink silken brocade.
The floor was covered with pink silken rugs.
The lamps were shaded with pink silken screens.
Pink roses were in vases and bowls on the gilded mantel-piece, and on the gilded tables.
The gilded furniture was upholstered in pink brocade.
And Mrs. Perry was dressed in black.
She wore a long clinging robe, low at the neck, and short at the sleeves.
In her ears, on her breast, and on her fingers, were big barbaric looking emeralds.
On her face was a quantity of make-up.
Her cheeks were painted white, her lids were painted blue, and her lips were painted red.
Her hair was dyed the color of burnished copper, and was worn in a weirdly wonderful way.
Mrs. Perry looked at Gordon.
Gordon looked at Mrs. Perry.
She smiled.
He blushed.
She motioned to him to be seated—in a chair beside a sofa.
He took the chair—after she had taken the sofa.
He fidgetted with his hands.
His hands were big and strong.
She fidgetted with her feet.
Her feet were small and shapely.
“I didn’t know if you would come or not,” said Mrs. Perry.
“But you invited me to!” said Gordon.
“I know I did,” said Mrs. Perry.
“And I said that I would,” said Gordon.
“I know that too,” said Mrs. Perry.
“Then why wouldn’t I come?” said Gordon.
“I don’t know,” said Mrs. Perry, “but I thought that you might be—afraid.”
“Afraid of—what?” said Gordon.
“Afraid of—me,” said Mrs. Perry.
“Of you?” said Gordon.
“Or of—yourself,” said Mrs. Perry.
“Of myself?” said Gordon.
“Yes,” said Mrs. Perry, “you are so good-looking.”
Gordon blushed.
“And so am I!” said Mrs. Perry.
Gordon stammered.
“Don’t you think I am?” said Mrs. Perry.
“Of course I do!” said Gordon.
“And don’t you know that you are?” said Mrs. Perry.
“Of course I don’t!” said Gordon.
“Well, I do!” said Mrs. Perry, “and you are!”
She put her feet up on the sofa, so that she was reclining at full length beside him.
He moved his chair away.
“Don’t go further!” said Mrs. Perry, “but come nearer!”
He came nearer.
“That’s a good boy!” said Mrs. Perry, “a very good boy!”
He looked shy.
She looked sly.
“Do you object to my smoking?” said Mrs. Perry.
“Not at all,” said Gordon.
He opened his case.
She took a cigarette.
He lighted it for her.
“Since you have been obliging enough to let me have a cigarette,” said Mrs. Perry, “I will be obliging enough to let you have a—kiss!”
He looked amazed.
She looked amused.
He hesitated.
She held up her face.
He kissed her—on the mouth....
“And now we are friends!” said Mrs. Perry, “but we must be more intimate friends yet. We must know one another better. Much better. Very much better. Mustn’t we?”
“Yes,” said Gordon.
She put out her hand and touched him on the knee.
He shrank away from her.
She blew a puff of smoke into his face.
“You must tell me all about yourself,” said Mrs. Perry.
And he did—under her clever manipulation.
“And I must tell you all about myself,” said Mrs. Perry.
But she did not—again under her clever manipulation.
When Gordon got up to go, the clock was chiming twelve o’clock at night.
And when Gordon finally did go, the clock was chiming three o’clock in the morning.
They had been together for six hours....
Mrs. Perry asked Gordon to come again.
He said that he would.
And he did.
The next night.
And the next.
And the next.
And after that, he came every night—for two weeks.
He didn’t go anywhere else.
He didn’t want to go anywhere else.
First, Gordon and Mrs. Perry left the pink drawing-room for the yellow sitting-room.
And then, they left the yellow sitting-room for the lavender boudoir.
It was in the lavender boudoir one evening, at the end of the two weeks, while they were smoking perfumed cigarettes, and sipping absinthe, Mrs. Perry made a strange and startling statement.
“Gordon,” said Mrs. Perry, “you must never come to see me again!”
“What do you mean?” said Gordon.
“I mean that you are a boy with a future,” said Mrs. Perry, “and I am a woman with a past.”
“Oh, don’t talk like that!” said Gordon.
“But I must talk like that!” said Mrs. Perry, “you have a life before you, I have a life behind me. We are not equally matched.”
“We are!” said Gordon.
“It isn’t fair,” said Mrs. Perry.
“It is!” said Gordon.
“We can’t be friends,” said Mrs. Perry.
“We can,” said Gordon.
“No—we can’t,” said Mrs. Perry, “and we—sha’n’t!”
“But why—why?” said Gordon.
“Because you are a dear sweet boy,” said Mrs. Perry, “and because I—I have got a painted face!”
“I love you,” said Gordon.
“I have got a painted face,” repeated Mrs. Perry.
“I love you,” repeated Gordon.
“Do you love me—in spite of my painted face?” whispered Mrs. Perry.
“No, I love you—on account of it!” whispered Gordon.
And it was so.
And she knew it.
The surprise was—that he knew it.
But Gordon had learned a lot—in two weeks....