“I call that a rude question,” he answered smiling.
“Yes, it is, but I want to know.”
“Well,” said Harold, “I suppose that I am pretty fair, that is at rough shooting; I never had much practice at driven birds and that kind of sport.”
“I am glad of it.”
“Why, it does not much matter. One goes out shooting for the sport of the thing.”
“Yes, I know, but Mr. Edward Cossey,” and she shrank visibly as she uttered the name, “is coming, and he is a very good shot and very conceited about it. I want you to beat him if you can—will you try?”
“Well,” said Harold, “I don’t at all like shooting against a man. It is not sportsmanlike, you know; and, besides, if Mr. Cossey is a crack shot, I daresay that I shall be nowhere; but I will shoot as well as I can.”
“Do you know, it is very feminine, but I would give anything to see you beat him?” and she nodded and laughed, whereupon Harold Quaritch vowed in his heart that if it in him lay he would not disappoint her.
At that moment Edward Cossey’s fast trotting horse drew up at the door with a prodigious crunching of gravel, and Edward himself entered, looking very handsome and rather pale. He was admirably dressed, that is to say, his shooting clothes were beautifully made and very new-looking, and so were his boots, and so was his hat, and so were his hammerless guns, of which he brought a pair. There exists a certain class of sportsmen who always appear to have just walked out of a sporting tailor’s shop, and to this class Edward Cossey belonged. Everything about him was of the best and newest and most expensive kind possible; even his guns were just down from a famous maker, and the best that could be had for love or money, having cost exactly a hundred and forty guineas the pair. Indeed, he presented a curious contrast to his rival. The Colonel had certainly nothing new-looking about him; an old tweed coat, an old hat, with a piece of gut still twined round it, a sadly frayed bag full of brown cartridges, and, last of all, an old gun with the brown worn off the barrels, original cost, 17 pounds 10s. And yet there was no possibility of making any mistake as to which of the two looked more of a gentleman, or, indeed, more of a sportsman.
Edward Cossey shook hands with Ida, but when the Colonel was advancing to give him his hand, he turned and spoke to the Squire, who had at length finished his letter, so that no greeting was passed between them. At the time Harold did not know if this move was or was not accidental.