"I see," she said; "I am supposed to be doubly in your debt, now. I'd rather you _had_ kissed me and we were quits!" "It isn't too late you know." "It _is_ too late. It's all over." "Madame, I have fifty-nine other minutes in which to meet your kindly expressed wishes. Did you forget?" "What!" she exclaimed, aghast. "One hour less one minute is still coming to me." "Am I--have I--is this ridiculous performance going to happen again?" she asked, appalled. "Fifty-nine times," he laughed, doubling one spangled leg under the other and whirling on his toe till he resembled a kaleidoscopic teetotum. Then he drew his sword, cut right and left, slapped it back into its sheath, and bowed his wriggling bow, one hand over his heart. "Don't look so troubled, madame," he said. "I release you from your debt. You need never pay me what you owe me." Up went her small head, fiercely, under its flashing hair: "Thank you. I pay my debts!" she said crisply. "You decline to accept your release?" "Yes, I do!--from _you!"_ "You'll see this thing through!--if it takes all winter?" "Of course;" trying to smile, and not succeeding. He touched her arm and pointed out across the hot, perfumed gulf to the gilded clock on high: "You _have_ seen it through! It is now one minute to midnight. We have been here exactly one hour, lacking a minute, since our bet was on.... And I've wanted to kiss you all the while." Confused, she looked at the clock under its elaborate azure and ormolu foliations, then turned toward him, still uncertain of her immunity. "Do you mean that you have really used the hour as you saw fit?" she asked. "Have I done my part honestly?--Like a good sportsman? Have I really?" He bowed, laughingly: "I cheerfully concede it. You are a good sport." "And--all that time--" she began--"all that time----" "I had my chances--sixty of them." "And didn't take them?" "Only wanted to--but didn't." "You think that I----" "A woman never forgets a man who has kissed her. I took the rather hopeless chance that you might remember me without that. But it's a long shot. I expect that you'll forget me." "Do you _want_ me to remember you?" she asked, curiously. "Yes. But you won't." "How do you know?" "I know--from the expression of your mouth, perhaps. You are too pretty, too popular to remember a poor Harlequin." "But you never have seen my face? Have you?" "No." "Then why do you continually say that I am pretty?" "I can divine what you must be." "Then--how--why did you refrain from--" She laughed lightly, and looked up at him, mockingly. "Really, Harlequin, you _are_ funny. Do you realise it?" She laughed again and the slight flush came back into her cheeks. "But you're nice, anyway.... Perhaps if you _had_ seen my face you might have let me go unkissed all the quicker.... Masks cover horrible surprises.... And, then again, if you _had_ seen it, _perhaps_ you might _never_ have let me go at all!" she added, audaciously.