“He says he can’t.”
“He can’t, he can’t!” he roared; “then I’ll turn him out.”
She looked at him fixedly, but smiling. Andrea lowered his voice.
“I don’t know why I lose my temper,” he muttered. “I beg your pardon, Nini, but it annoys me when they come and bother you. What did you say to him?”
“That I would speak to you about it; that we should see.... Have your own way. Give me some wine. By-the-by, Giovanni has been here; the vats are opened; he says the wine promises well.”
“I will look in to-morrow. When that’s over, in a week we’ll leave for Naples. Are you impatient? No fowl! I assure you, it is excellent.”
“Tell the truth, ’tis you who want more.”
“I blush, but I say yes. So you pine for Naples?”
“And you?”
“I, too. Here there’s no sport, and dull neighbours. We are expected there. By-the-by, send for Cecchina and tell her that in the pocket of my shooting-jacket there is a letter for you. I found it at the post-office at Caserta.”