"Damn it! this comes of bringing brats where they have no business. Creach! You little fool! This is no more Creach than you are. This is Captain Graeme, late of the Imperial service. There, beg his pardon now, and don't put your foot in it again, like a wise lad," and his tone was kind, though his words were rough.
"Your pardon, sir," I said, "but this is Captain Creach, of the Regiment Irlandia; I have reason to know him only too well."
"Here, MacDonnell," called out my new acquaintance, "this bantling of yours is doing you no credit; come here and smooth him down."
The Colonel rose, frowning, and came over to where we formed a centre, Creach standing on one foot and tapping the other with his long, fashionable cane.
"What's the matter?" he said, severely.
"Colonel MacDonnell," I cried, "may I say a word to you in private?" and seeing I was in deadly earnest, he took me into an anteroom and bade me speak.
Then I told him the whole story of our adventure at Aquapendente, and that I was as sure this man was Creach as I was I had a soul. "I don't care what he says, sir, that is Captain Creach, of the Regiment Irlandia."
"My dear lad," he said, firmly, "get that notion out of your head at once. We have not, and never had in my day, any Captain Creach, or any man of the name, even in our ranks. There is a Captain Creach in Lord Clare's Regiment, whom I know for a gallant gentleman, but he has not seen Italy for many a long year. Now, wait a moment—will you apologize to this gentleman?"
"No, sir, saving your presence, I will not."
"Very well; that is settled. Will you give me a promise?"