hing/."

"Everybody misses sometimes," answered that gentleman, looking
uncommonly sulky. "I shall do better this afternoon when it comes to
the driven partridges."

"I don't believe you will," went on Ida, laughing maliciously. "I bet
you a pair of gloves that Colonel Quaritch will shoot more driven
partridges than you do."

"Done," said Edward Cossey sharply.

"Now, do you hear that, Colonel Quaritch?" went on Ida. "I have bet
Mr. Cossey a pair of gloves that you will kill more partridges this
afternoon than he will, so I hope you won't make me lose them."

"Goodness gracious," said the Colonel, in much alarm. "Why, the last
partridge-driving that I had was on the slopes of some mountains in
Afghanistan. I daresay that I shan't hit anything. Besides," he said
with some irritation, "I don't like being set up to shoot against
people."

"Oh, of course," said Edward loftily, "if Colonel Quaritch does not
like to take it up there's an end of it."

"Well," said the Colonel, "if you put it in that way I don't mind
trying, but I have only one gun and you have two."

"Oh, that will be all right," said Ida to the Colonel. "You shall have
George's gun; he never tries to shoot when they drive partridges,
because he cannot hit them. He goes with the beaters. It is a very
good gun."

The Colonel took up the gun and examined it. It was of about the same
bend and length as his own, but of a better quality, having once been
the property of James de la Molle.

"Yes," he said, "but then I haven't got a loader."

"Never mind. I'll do that, I know all about it. I often used to hold
my brother's second gun when we drove partridges, because he said I
was so much quicker than the men. Look," and she took the gun and
rested one knee on the turf; "first position, second position, third
position. We used to have regular drills at it," and she sighed.

The Colonel laughed heartily, for it was a curious thing to see this
stately woman handling a gun with all the skill and quickness of a
practised shot. Besides, as the loader idea involved a whole afternoon
of Ida's society he certainly was not inclined to negative it. But
Edward Cossey did not smile; on the contrary he positively scowled
with jealousy, and was about to make some remark when Ida held up her
finger.

"Hush," she said, "here comes my father" (the Squire had been counting
the game); "he hates bets, so you mustn't say anything about our
match."

Luncheon went off p