The Perfume of Eros: A Fifth Avenue Incident   By: Edgar Saltus (1855-1921)

By Mr Saltus

IMPERIAL PURPLE THE POMPS OF SATAN MARY MAGDALEN A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS THE PHILOSOPHY OF DISENCHANTMENT THE PACE THAT KILLS THE ANATOMY OF NEGATION PURPLE AND FINE WOMEN MR. INCONT'S MISADVENTURE THE TRUTH ABOUT TRISTOEM VARICK LOVE AND LORE THE STORY WITHOUT A NAME EDEN

In Preparation SCAFFOLDS AND ALTARS

The

Perfume of Eros

A FIFTH AVENUE INCIDENT

By EDGAR SALTUS

New York

A. WESSELS COMPANY

1905

Copyrighted 1905 by

EDGAR SALTUS

Printed October, 1905

PRESS OF

BRAUNWORTH & CO.

BOOKBINDERS AND PRINTERS

BROOKLYN, N. Y.

THE FACTS IN THE CASE

TABLE OF CONTENTS

THE FACTS IN THE CASE

CHAPTER PAGE

I. A MAN OF FASHION 9

II. THE POCKET VENUS 19

III. THE EX FIRST LADY 32

IV. ENCHANTMENT 44

V. MARIE CHANGES HER NAME 52

VI. THE YELLOW FAY 63

VII. SWEET AND TWENTY 71

VIII. TWO IN A TURRET 80

IX. FANNY CHANGES HER CLOTHES 89

X. A VICTIM 101

THE GENERAL SESSIONS

CHAPTER PAGE

I. DISENCHANTMENT 111

II. THE MOTE IN THE EYE 121

III. THE GATES OF LIFE 133

IV. THE RETURN OF THE YELLOW FAY 144

V. EXIT FANNY 156

VI. WHAT THE PAPERS SAID 166

VII. HELD WITHOUT BAIL 177

VIII. THE DEFENDANT TO THE BAR 191

IX. THE TWELFTH JUROR 202

X. THE VERDICT 219

THE PERFUME OF EROS

CHAPTER I

A MAN OF FASHION

"Royal," said the man's mother that evening, "are you still thinking of Fanny Price?"

It was in Gramercy Park. As you may or may not know, Gramercy Park is the least noisy spot in the metropolitan Bedlam. Without being unreasonably aristocratic it is sedate and what agents call exclusive.

The park itself is essentially that. Its design is rather English. The use is restricted to adjoining residents. About it is a fence of high iron. Within are trees, paths, grasses, benches, great vases and a fountain. But none of the usual loungers, none of the leprous men, rancid women, and epileptic children that swarm in other New York squares. Yet these squares are open to all. To enter this park you must have a key. By day it is a playground. Nurse maids come there with little boys and girls, the subdued, undemonstrative, beautifully dressed children of the rich. At night it is empty as a vacant bier.

In a house that fronted the north side Royal Loftus lived with his mother, a proud, arrogant woman socially known to all, but who socially knew but few. Behind her, in the shade of the family tree, was her dead lord, Royal's father and, more impressively still, the latter's relatives, the entire Loftus contingent, a set of people super respectable, supernally rich. She too was rich. She wore a wig, walked with a staff, spoke with a Mayfair intonation in a high pitched voice, and, in the amplitudes of widowhood and wealth, entertained frequently but cared only for her son.

On this evening the two were seated together in a drawing room that faced the park. The walls, after a fashion of long ago, were frescoed. The ceiling too was frescoed. The furniture belonged also to an earlier day. The modern note in the room was the absence of chandeliers and the appearance of Royal Loftus, who, in a Paris shirt and London clothes, was contemplating his painted nails.