Prince Michael sat at the young man’s side.  He was often rebuffed but never offensively.  His courteous manner and words forbade that.

“Clocks,” said the Prince, “are shackles on the feet of mankind.  I have observed you looking persistently at that clock.  Its face is that of a tyrant, its numbers are false as those on a lottery ticket; its hands are those of a bunco steerer, who makes an appointment with you to your ruin.  Let me entreat you to throw off its humiliating bonds and to cease to order your affairs by that insensate monitor of brass and steel.”

“I don’t usually,” said the young man.  “I carry a watch except when I’ve got my radiant rags on.”

“I know human nature as I do the trees and grass,” said the Prince, with earnest dignity.  “I am a master of philosophy, a graduate in art, and I hold the purse of a Fortunatus.  There are few mortal misfortunes that I cannot alleviate or overcome.  I have read your countenance, and found in it honesty and nobility as well as distress.  I beg of you to accept my advice or aid.  Do not belie the intelligence I see in your face by judging from my appearance of my ability to defeat your troubles.”

The young man glanced at the clock again and frowned darkly.  When his gaze strayed from the glowing horologue of time it rested intently upon a four-story red brick house in the row of dwellings opposite to where he sat.  The shades were drawn, and the lights in many rooms shone dimly through them.

“Ten minutes to nine!” exclaimed the young man, with an impatient gesture of despair.  He turned his back upon the house and took a rapid step or two in a contrary direction.

“Remain!” commanded Prince Michael, in so potent a voice that the disturbed one wheeled around with a somewhat chagrined laugh.

“I’ll give her the ten minutes and then I’m off,” he muttered, and then aloud to the Prince:  “I’ll join you in confounding all clocks, my friend, and throw in women, too.”

“Sit down,” said the Prince calmly.  “I do not accept your addition.  Women are the natural enemies of clocks, and, therefore, the allies of those who would seek liberation from these monsters that measure our follies and limit our pleasures.  If you will so far confide in me I would ask you to relate to me your story.”

The young man threw himself upon the bench with a reckless laugh.

“Your Royal Highness, I will,” he said, in tones of mock deference.  “Do you see yonder house—­the one with three upper windows lighted?  Well, at 6 o’clock I stood in that house with the young lady I am—­that is, I was—­engaged to.  I had been doing wrong, my dear Prince—­I had been a naughty boy, and she had heard of it.  I wanted to be forgiven, of course—­we are always wanting women to forgive us, aren’t we, Prince?”