Why," and he turned to Edward, "bless me, sir, if I don't believe the
Colonel has won them gloves for Miss Ida after all. Let's see, sir,
you got two brace this last drive and one the first, and a leash the
second, and two brace and a half the third, six and a half brace in
all. And the Colonel, yes, he hev seven brace, one bird to the good."
"There, Mr. Cossey," said Ida, smiling sweetly, "I have won my gloves.
Mind you don't forget to pay them."
"Oh, I will not forget, Miss de la Molle," said he, smiling also, but
not too prettily. "I suppose," he said, addressing the Colonel, "that
the last covey twisted up and you browned them."
"No," he answered quietly, "all four were clear shots."
Mr. Cossey smiled again, as he turned away to hide his vexation, an
incredulous smile, which somehow sent Harold Quaritch's blood leaping
through his veins more quickly than was good for him. Edward Cossey
would rather have lost a thousand pounds than that his adversary
should have got that extra bird, for not only was he a jealous shot,
but he knew perfectly well that Ida was anxious that he should lose,
and desired above all things to see him humiliated. And then he, the
smartest shot within ten miles round, to be beaten by a middle-aged
soldier shooting with a strange gun, and totally unaccustomed to
driven birds! Why, the story would be told over the county; George
would see to that.
Pages:
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255