I stood staring out of the window trying to recover myself, when who should come up but Father O'Rourke. "Well, well, my little Highlander, who has been ruffling your feathers?" said he.
"Look there! Father O'Rourke," I said, paying no attention to his nonsense; "do you see that man?"
"I'm not hard of hearing yet, my son, thank God! and you needn't make a sign-post of yourself. Do you mean the claret-coloured coat and the bag-wig?"
"Yes," I said, more quietly. "That is Creach!"
"The devil it is!" he said, and then he became confused, and glanced at me to see if I had observed his slip; but I have always held that an honest statement of opinion may excuse the expression. He was silent for a moment, looking hard at the man, and then went on in his old lively manner. "Well, Giovannini, we are not responsible for the company; they cannot be all lieutenants and priests. Let us wander about and get a mouthful of air." So, taking my arm, he led me off, nor would he speak on the subject until we were alone on the terrace. There he changed his tone, and said, shortly:
"Are you sure of the man?"
"As sure as if I had seen his ears."
"Faith! they were big enough to swear by," and to my impatience he began to laugh at the thought. "Do you remember how they stuck out? The handles of a jug would be flat beside them," and he laughed again. "Now I suppose you promptly insulted him?"
"Indeed I did not. I only told him he was a dog, and if he spoke to me again I would not answer for myself."
"Humph! I have frequently noticed a Highlander's conception of an insult is materially altered by the fact whether it proceeds from himself or from another; but I don't suppose you ever got as far in metaphysics as this. Now comes the question, what you intend to do? Remember the gentleman seems fairly well established here. Will you fight with him?"