Without drawing her gaze from the contemplation of her own mirrored beauty, she adjusted the three glasses of the dressing-table this way and that. I did not at first understand the purpose of what she was doing. However, Miss Jones undid her working-pants and pushed them down, stepping out of the tangle of cloth which lay about her ankles.

She also unbuttoned her blouse and shrugged it off so that it fell to the dark richness of the Persian carpet. At last she was naked, like a randy little gold-skinned odalisque or a lewd almond-eyed temple dancer. Then she turned and walked across the room with that tight lascivious little swagger of her trim hips which is her most characteristic movement, I began to understand why she had altered the angles of the triple mirrors on the dressing-table. As she walked, the randy little piece could watch herself reflected from front and rear, thanks to the triple mirror in one corner and a finely framed costume mirror that stood against the opposite wall. She made her way to the long Regency sofa with its thickly padded crimson velvet and its ornamental scroll at one end. It was on this that all the mirrors had been trained. As she lay there, on whichever side, she could see her light gold beauty reflected from the front and the back simultaneously. She stretched out naked on the soft crimson velvet, the upper half of her body turned over a little on her front and one knee drawn up slightly, which gave a delightfully saucy distortion to the perfect shape of her bottom-cheeks. Posing like this, she was the boudoir beauty-lascivious and perverse-of which Romantic Europe has dreamt this past century! There is, to be sure, a perversity in the manner in which Cara Jones uses her body, the lewd postures which she so instinctively adopts.