Charles, this is Mr.
Scroope's friend, the gentleman that you said--exaggerated.

I think you had better apologize." But Charles was gone, to pick up the pigeons, I suppose.
At this moment Scroope and the young lady appeared, having heard our voices, and a general explanation ensued.
"Mr.Quatermain has been giving me a lesson in shooting pigeons on the wing with a small-bore rifle," said Lord Ragnall, pointing to the dead birds that still lay upon the ground.
"He is competent to do that," said Scroope.
"Painfully competent," replied his lordship.

"If you don't believe me, ask the under-keeper." "It is the only thing I can do," I explained modestly.

"Rifle-shooting is my trade, and I have made a habit of practising at birds on the wing with ball.

I have no doubt that with a shot-gun your lordship would leave me nowhere, for that is a game at which I have had little practice, except when shooting for the pot in Africa." "Yes," interrupted Scroope, "you wouldn't have any chance at that, Allan, against one of the finest shots in England." "I'm not so sure," said Lord Ragnall, laughing pleasantly.