The Streets of Ascalon. Chambers Robert William

believe," she said scornfully, "you are really trying to make me think that you could have done it, and didn't!"

      "You are too clever to believe me a martyr to principle, madame!"

      She looked at him, stamped her foot till the bangles clashed.

      "Why didn't you kiss me, then? – if you wish to spoil my victory?"

      "You yourself have told me why."

      "Am I wrong? Could you – didn't I surprise you – in fact, paralyse you – with astonishment?"

      He laughed delighted; and she stamped her ringing foot again.

      "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.

      In the gilded balcony opposite, the orchestra had now ceased playing; the whirl and noise of the dancers filled the immense momentary quiet. Then soft chimes from the great clock sounded midnight amid cries of, "Unmask! masks off, everybody!"

      The Harlequin turned and drawing the black vizard from his face, bent low and saluted her hand; and she, responding gaily with a curtsey, looked up into the features of an utter stranger.

      She stood silent a moment, the surprised smile stamped on her lips; then, in her turn, she slipped the mask from her eyes.

      "Voila!" she cried. "C'est moi!"

      After a moment he said, half to himself;

      "I knew well enough that you must be unusual. But I hadn't any idea – any – idea – "

      "Then – you are not disappointed in me, monsieur?"

      "My only regret is that I had my hour, and wasted it. Those hours never sound twice for wandering harlequins."

      "Poor Harlequin!" she said saucily – "I'm sorry, but even your magic can't recall a vanished hour! Poor, poor Harlequin! You were too generous to me!"

      "And now you are going to forget me," he said. "That is to be my reward."

      "Why – I don't think – I don't expect to forget you. I suppose I am likely to know you some day… Who are you, please? Somebody very grand in New York?"

      "My name is Quarren."

      There was a silence; she glanced down at the ball-room floor through the lattice screen, then slowly turned around to look at him again.

      "Have you ever heard of me?" he asked, smiling.

      "Yes."

      "Are you disappointed?"

      "Y-es. Pleasantly… I supposed you to be – different."

      He laughed:

      "Has the world been knocking me very dreadfully to you, Mrs. Leeds?"

      "No… One's impressions form without any reason – and vaguely – from – nothing in particular. – I thought you were a very different sort of man. – I am glad you are not."

      "That is charming of you."

      "It's honest. I had no desire to meet the type of man I supposed you to be. Am I too frank?"

      "No, indeed," he said, laughing, "but I'm horribly afraid that I really am the kind of man you imagined me."

      "You are not."

      "How do you know?"

      "No," she said, shaking her pretty head, "you can't be."

      He said, quoting her own words amiably: "I'm merely one of the necessary incidents of any social environment – like flowers and champagne – "

      "Mr. Quarren!"

      In her distress she laid an impulsive hand on his sleeve; he lifted it, laid it across the back of his own hand, and bowing, saluted it lightly, gaily.

      "I am not offended," he said; " – I am what you supposed me."

      "Please don't say it! You are not. I didn't know you; I was – prejudiced – "

      "You'll find me out sooner or later," he said laughing, "so I might as well admit that your cap fitted me."

      "It doesn't fit!" she retorted; "I was a perfect fool to say that!"

      "As long as you like me," he returned, "does it make any difference what I am?"

      "Of course