The Daily Ardmoreite. [volume] (Ardmore, Okla.) 1893-current, 1910-07-27

by the name of Briggs. Meanwhile
her father told her that Ricordo had
approached him with view of buy
ing the house concerning which he had
spoken to her After this they met
occasionally. but not often; neverthe-
less, each time they met. Olive be-
came more deeply interested in him.
The fact of his coming from the
East became less and less an obsta-
Gle to their friendship, and John
Castlemaine. while he could never
break through a certain kind of re-
serve which seemed to surround the
man vino had come to live in their
midst confessed that he was the
most interesting personality he had
ever met
As the weeks passed by Olive re-
allied that the time would soon ar
rive when Herbert Briarfield would
claim the right to plead his suit for
the last time, and she began TO won
der what she would say to him.
Since the occasion when he had
pleaded this privilege he had not
visited her home often; but every
time she had seen him he had re-
vealed more and more what Zine
manly young fellow he was Certain
ly, as her father had told her more
than once, she would soon have 20
decide whether she would remain sim
ge all her life, or whether she would
accept the love Offered. hYet, even
as she thought of this, she wondered
what Ricordo would say, and she
thought also of the promise which
she had made to Leicester on the
night before the day on which they
should have been married. For that
promise still haunted her. She re-
membered the look on Leicester's
race when he exacted the promise,
and her assurance that, no mater
what might happen, she would never
marry another man, was ro. TO be
easily forgotten.
One morning Ricordo sat on the
lawn outside the Manor Farm house.
He had breakfasted in the open air
and was now sitting on garden
chair smoking a cheroot. Ricordo
was still regarded as mystery in
the neighborhood, No one knew any
thing more about him now than they
did on the day of his arrival. save
that he was partner in a great
plenty of money was beyond ques-
tion. He had opened an account at
the nearest bank, and the manager
bad opened his eyes with astonish-
ment when he saw the amount writ.
ten on the cheque that was pre-
sented to him. OF course this sum
was not mentioned to the world,
but the clerks at the bank made
no secret of the fact that their new
client was enormously rich. But be-
yond this nothing was known. The
best houses for miles around had
opened their doors to him; but Ric-
ordo never entered them. Beyond
calling occasionally at The Home
stead, and at the great house at
Vale Linden, he showed no desire
for companionship. If he had left
at the end of two months he would
have been spoken of as the myste-
rious Eastern gentleman who wore
fez, and while all sorts of sur
misses would have been offered con-
cerning him, nothing would have
been known.
This morning, Signor Ricordo lay
back in his chair, smoking a che
root. As usual, his eyes were nearly
closed, and the same look of Gym
ical melancholy rested on his face
Once or twice he picked up the
previous days paper, only to throw
it aside. Evidently he had but little
interest in the affairs of the coun-
try. Presently he lifted his head
quickly, and saw the village post
man coming towards him.
"Mornin, sur"
Good morning, Beel Got some
letters for me?"
"Severll, sur. Ere you be"
Thank You"
The postman left him, and made
his way towards the house.
For time he sat deep in thought
not referring to the letters, but his
face gave no indication as to wheth-
er his thoughts were pleasant or
otherwise. It was as eXpressionless
as the face of the sphinx. After a
time he turned to the letters and