"I expected to see her when I came here," said the stranger; "but, as I said to Mr. Briarfield last night, although I have been here several days, I have not yet had the felicity of setting eyes on her. But fortune favours me now. Ah, we are playing for a great stake, Mr.

Sprague. Who knows?"

"Perhaps the man who is standing by her side will win her," laughed Purvis. He hardly knew why he spoke.

"The man who is standing by may see most of the game," said Ricordo, "but he never wins--never. It is only the man who plays who wins. Ah, gentlemen, discussing the stakes on a tee is bad preparation for a stroke; therefore we will dismiss the subject. Besides, I never make wagers. Life itself is the wager."

He struck his ball, and although it flew far, it had what golfers call a "slice" on it. It cleared the hazard, but curled away to the right of the large green, at least twenty yards from the hole. He made no remark, but moved aside for Sprague to play.

"You've got your chance, Sprague," said Purvis in low tones. "A good straight shot, and you are close to the tee; it can't be more than a hundred and eighty yards."

Sprague felt his hands tremble. He had not missed a drive for the round; he determined he would not miss now. The stranger had made him feel that the game _was_ a game of life. He knew not why, but it seemed to him that the future would depend on whether he won or lost.

His ball flew through the air. It was struck, and clean and true; it fell within ten yards of the hole.

"Good!" said Purvis, "a good putt, and you are down in two." Somehow, he had lost interest in the game himself: all interest was centred in the other two. Even when his ball failed to reach the green he did not mind; he did not care if he lost.

When they reached the green, they found that Sprague's ball had stymied Ricordo's--that is to say, it lay on the green on a straight line between Ricordo's ball and the hole.

"Will you either play out, or pick up your ball, signore?" said Ricordo quietly. "I believe it is the law that there are no stymies in a three-ball match."

He said this because Sprague stood waiting for him to play.

"If it _is_ a stymie, certainly," he said, almost angrily.

"Look for yourself," said the stranger.

Sprague looked. "Very well, I'll play it out," he said.

He cast a hasty glance around, and saw that Olive Castlemaine and Herbert Briarfield had moved to the edge of the green and were watching the contest.

Sprague measured the distance carefully, then seizing the putter he played. The ball rolled to the lip of the hole, and stopped. His heart almost ceased to beat. Then perhaps a blade of gra.s.s bent or a breath of wind stirred--anyhow, the ball dropped into the hole.

Ricordo laughed pleasantly. "Ah, we halve it, I see," he said.

"It will take you all your time to do that," said Sprague triumphantly.

His words had scarcely escaped his lips when Signor Ricordo's ball came rolling across the green.

"Too lively," thought Purvis; but he was mistaken. It came straight to the hole and dropped in.

They heard some one clapping on the edge of the green; it was Herbert Briarfield, who had been watching.

"We will play it out another day," said Sprague.

Signor Ricordo walked away towards the spot where Herbert Briarfield and Olive Castlemaine stood. His eyes had half closed again, while the old air of cynical melancholy manifested itself in his face.

CHAPTER XXII

SIGNOR RICORDO AND OLIVE

"That was a fine putt of yours, signore; did you win the match?" said Herbert Briarfield, as he came up.

"No, it was only halved. The game has to be played out yet."

"Signore, let me introduce you to Miss Castlemaine, to whose goodness we owe these links."

Olive looked at him eagerly. She half held out her hand, but the stranger did not offer to take it. He bowed low, placing his right hand on his fez; but he did not lift it.

"I am greatly honoured," he said, in low tones, and Briarfield thought he detected an accent which he had not noticed before.

"You are enjoying your visit here, signore, I hope," said Olive, looking towards him curiously.

"It is becoming more interesting each day," was his reply.

"I am very glad," said Olive. "Perhaps you felt the place rather strange at first, and now, as you find congenial acquaintances, you feel, as we English say, 'more at home.'"

"Yes, I am making acquaintances. This morning, for example, I have enlarged the circle, and I found Mr. Sprague and Mr. Purvis very interesting."

"Whom did you say?" asked Olive quickly.

"Mr. Sprague and Mr. Purvis," said Ricordo, emphasising their names just as a foreigner might do. "Ah, you know them? I think they are coming this way."

"I must get back, Mr. Briarfield," said Olive quickly. "Father is expecting me to lunch."

"I will walk back with you," said Briarfield.

"And I, too, if I may," said Ricordo.

"You are not playing this afternoon?" said Briarfield.

"No, I think I am lazy, or perhaps I am getting old. We Easterns, you know, love to sit in the sun rather than exercise in it. Not that I feel tired. The air here gives one vigour. Ah, Miss Castlemaine, you were a benefactress to the tired part of the people of your country when you built your homestead."

"Only to a small degree, I am afraid," replied Olive. "It is only the few who can take advantage of it."

"Ah, but if all, situated as you are, would do likewise----" remarked Ricordo. "But there, I must not complain, I am one of the few. Besides, I have more than my deserts. I have not been regarded as an alien. Ah, you must be very trustful to take a stranger in without asking questions."

"Miss Castlemaine is no respecter of nationalities," interposed Herbert Briarfield.

"Ah, no, to be poor, to be tired--that is enough. But Mr. Sprague and Mr. Purvis, whom I played the golf with, they did not look either poor or tired. But perhaps they know you--they spoke as though they did."

Olive did not reply, neither did she meet the eyes of Ricordo, which were lifted to her face. She wondered whether they had told this man anything of the past.

"And you like Vale Linden?" she asked presently, in order to break the silence.