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. Presently they started, Edward Cossey attended by his man with the second gun. “Hullo! Cossey,” sang out the Squire after him, “it isn’t any use bringing your two guns for this sort of work. I don’t preserve much here, you know, at least not now. You will only get a dozen cock pheasants and a few brace of partridges.” “Oh, thank you,” he answered, “I always like to have a second gun in case I should want it. It’s no trouble, you know.” “All right,” said the Squire. “Ida and I will come down with the luncheon to the grove. Good-bye.” After crossing the moat, Edward Cossey walked by himself, followed by his man and a very fine retriever, and the Colonel talked to George, who was informing him that Mr. Cossey was “a pretty shot, he wore, but rather snappy over it,” till they came to a field of white turnips. “Now, gentlemen, if you please,” said George, “we will walk through these here turnips. I put two coveys of birds in here myself, and it’s rare good ‘lay’ for them; so I think that we had better see if they will let us come nigh them.” Accordingly they started down the field, the Colonel on the right, George in the middle and Edward Cossey on the left. Before they had gone ten yards, an old Frenchman got up in the front of one of the beaters and wheeled round past Edward, who cut him over in first-rate style.