lla wine, Civitella fireworks, and especially Civitella girls,
were quite beneath his notice. As for Annetta, he looked upon her with
something like contempt, though he had a high respect for the fortune
which must one day be hers. She was to be a necessary encumbrance of his
future life, and for the present he meant to see as little of her as was
conveniently possible without relinquishing his claims to her hand. She
had admired him, in a way, until the arrival of Dalrymple, and he felt a
little irritation at the Scotchman's presence in the house, so that he
occasionally frightened Sora Nanna by talking of waiting for him with a
gun at the corner of the forest. It produced a good impression, he
thought, to show from time to time that he was not without jealousy. But
as for going with her on such an expedition as a visit to a country
fair, it was not to be expected of him.

Nevertheless, Annetta had enjoyed herself thoroughly with her
companions, and was very glad that Gigetto had not been at her elbow
with his city notions of propriety, which he applied to her, but made as
elastic as he pleased for himself. She had been to high mass in the
village church, crowded to suffocation, she had walked up and down the
main street half the afternoon, arm in arm with the other girls,
giggling and showing off her handsome costume to the poorer natives of
the little place, and smiling wickedly at the handsome youths who stood
idly in groups at the corners of the streets. She had dined sumptuously,
and had made her eyes sparkle like rather vulgar little stars by
drinking a glass of strong old white wine to the health and speedy
marriage of all the other girls. She had gone out with them at dusk, and
had watched the pretty fireworks in the small piazza, and had wandered
on with them afterwards in the moonlight to the ruin of the Cyclopean
fortress which overlooks the two valleys. Then back to the house of her
friends, who kept the principal inn, and more tough chicken and tender
salad and red wine for supper. And on the next day they had all gone
down to the meagre vineyards, half way to San Vito and just below the
thick chestnut woods which belong to the Marchese and feudal lord of
that ancient town. And there amongst the showers of reddening vine
leaves, she had helped to gather the last grapes of the year, with song
and jest and laughter. At noon they climbed the hill again in the
October sun, and dined upon the remains of the prev