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diff --git a/208-h/208-h.htm b/208-h/208-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..70a3649 --- /dev/null +++ b/208-h/208-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,3507 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of Daisy Miller: a Study, by Henry James + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Daisy Miller, by Henry James + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Daisy Miller + +Author: Henry James + +Release Date: July 3, 2008 [EBook #208] +Last Updated: September 18, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DAISY MILLER *** + + + + +Produced by Judith Boss and David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + <div style="height: 8em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h1> + DAISY MILLER: A STUDY + </h1> + <h3> + IN TWO PARTS + </h3> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + By Henry James + </h2> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h4> + The text is that of the first American appearance in book form, 1879. + </h4> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h2> + Contents + </h2> + <table summary="" style="margin-right: auto; margin-left: auto"> + <tr> + <td> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_PART1"> PART I </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_PART"> PART II </a> + </p> + </td> + </tr> + </table> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_PART1" id="link2H_PART1"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h2> + PART I + </h2> + <p> + At the little town of Vevey, in Switzerland, there is a particularly + comfortable hotel. There are, indeed, many hotels, for the entertainment + of tourists is the business of the place, which, as many travelers will + remember, is seated upon the edge of a remarkably blue lake—a lake + that it behooves every tourist to visit. The shore of the lake presents an + unbroken array of establishments of this order, of every category, from + the “grand hotel” of the newest fashion, with a chalk-white front, a + hundred balconies, and a dozen flags flying from its roof, to the little + Swiss pension of an elder day, with its name inscribed in German-looking + lettering upon a pink or yellow wall and an awkward summerhouse in the + angle of the garden. One of the hotels at Vevey, however, is famous, even + classical, being distinguished from many of its upstart neighbors by an + air both of luxury and of maturity. In this region, in the month of June, + American travelers are extremely numerous; it may be said, indeed, that + Vevey assumes at this period some of the characteristics of an American + watering place. There are sights and sounds which evoke a vision, an echo, + of Newport and Saratoga. There is a flitting hither and thither of + “stylish” young girls, a rustling of muslin flounces, a rattle of dance + music in the morning hours, a sound of high-pitched voices at all times. + You receive an impression of these things at the excellent inn of the + “Trois Couronnes” and are transported in fancy to the Ocean House or to + Congress Hall. But at the “Trois Couronnes,” it must be added, there are + other features that are much at variance with these suggestions: neat + German waiters, who look like secretaries of legation; Russian princesses + sitting in the garden; little Polish boys walking about held by the hand, + with their governors; a view of the sunny crest of the Dent du Midi and + the picturesque towers of the Castle of Chillon. + </p> + <p> + I hardly know whether it was the analogies or the differences that were + uppermost in the mind of a young American, who, two or three years ago, + sat in the garden of the “Trois Couronnes,” looking about him, rather + idly, at some of the graceful objects I have mentioned. It was a beautiful + summer morning, and in whatever fashion the young American looked at + things, they must have seemed to him charming. He had come from Geneva the + day before by the little steamer, to see his aunt, who was staying at the + hotel—Geneva having been for a long time his place of residence. But + his aunt had a headache—his aunt had almost always a headache—and + now she was shut up in her room, smelling camphor, so that he was at + liberty to wander about. He was some seven-and-twenty years of age; when + his friends spoke of him, they usually said that he was at Geneva + “studying.” When his enemies spoke of him, they said—but, after all, + he had no enemies; he was an extremely amiable fellow, and universally + liked. What I should say is, simply, that when certain persons spoke of + him they affirmed that the reason of his spending so much time at Geneva + was that he was extremely devoted to a lady who lived there—a + foreign lady—a person older than himself. Very few Americans—indeed, + I think none—had ever seen this lady, about whom there were some + singular stories. But Winterbourne had an old attachment for the little + metropolis of Calvinism; he had been put to school there as a boy, and he + had afterward gone to college there—circumstances which had led to + his forming a great many youthful friendships. Many of these he had kept, + and they were a source of great satisfaction to him. + </p> + <p> + After knocking at his aunt’s door and learning that she was indisposed, he + had taken a walk about the town, and then he had come in to his breakfast. + He had now finished his breakfast; but he was drinking a small cup of + coffee, which had been served to him on a little table in the garden by + one of the waiters who looked like an attache. At last he finished his + coffee and lit a cigarette. Presently a small boy came walking along the + path—an urchin of nine or ten. The child, who was diminutive for his + years, had an aged expression of countenance, a pale complexion, and sharp + little features. He was dressed in knickerbockers, with red stockings, + which displayed his poor little spindle-shanks; he also wore a brilliant + red cravat. He carried in his hand a long alpenstock, the sharp point of + which he thrust into everything that he approached—the flowerbeds, + the garden benches, the trains of the ladies’ dresses. In front of + Winterbourne he paused, looking at him with a pair of bright, penetrating + little eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Will you give me a lump of sugar?” he asked in a sharp, hard little voice—a + voice immature and yet, somehow, not young. + </p> + <p> + Winterbourne glanced at the small table near him, on which his coffee + service rested, and saw that several morsels of sugar remained. “Yes, you + may take one,” he answered; “but I don’t think sugar is good for little + boys.” + </p> + <p> + This little boy stepped forward and carefully selected three of the + coveted fragments, two of which he buried in the pocket of his + knickerbockers, depositing the other as promptly in another place. He + poked his alpenstock, lance-fashion, into Winterbourne’s bench and tried + to crack the lump of sugar with his teeth. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, blazes; it’s har-r-d!” he exclaimed, pronouncing the adjective in a + peculiar manner. + </p> + <p> + Winterbourne had immediately perceived that he might have the honor of + claiming him as a fellow countryman. “Take care you don’t hurt your + teeth,” he said, paternally. + </p> + <p> + “I haven’t got any teeth to hurt. They have all come out. I have only got + seven teeth. My mother counted them last night, and one came out right + afterward. She said she’d slap me if any more came out. I can’t help it. + It’s this old Europe. It’s the climate that makes them come out. In + America they didn’t come out. It’s these hotels.” + </p> + <p> + Winterbourne was much amused. “If you eat three lumps of sugar, your + mother will certainly slap you,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “She’s got to give me some candy, then,” rejoined his young interlocutor. + “I can’t get any candy here—any American candy. American candy’s the + best candy.” + </p> + <p> + “And are American little boys the best little boys?” asked Winterbourne. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know. I’m an American boy,” said the child. + </p> + <p> + “I see you are one of the best!” laughed Winterbourne. + </p> + <p> + “Are you an American man?” pursued this vivacious infant. And then, on + Winterbourne’s affirmative reply—“American men are the best,” he + declared. + </p> + <p> + His companion thanked him for the compliment, and the child, who had now + got astride of his alpenstock, stood looking about him, while he attacked + a second lump of sugar. Winterbourne wondered if he himself had been like + this in his infancy, for he had been brought to Europe at about this age. + </p> + <p> + “Here comes my sister!” cried the child in a moment. “She’s an American + girl.” + </p> + <p> + Winterbourne looked along the path and saw a beautiful young lady + advancing. “American girls are the best girls,” he said cheerfully to his + young companion. + </p> + <p> + “My sister ain’t the best!” the child declared. “She’s always blowing at + me.” + </p> + <p> + “I imagine that is your fault, not hers,” said Winterbourne. The young + lady meanwhile had drawn near. She was dressed in white muslin, with a + hundred frills and flounces, and knots of pale-colored ribbon. She was + bareheaded, but she balanced in her hand a large parasol, with a deep + border of embroidery; and she was strikingly, admirably pretty. “How + pretty they are!” thought Winterbourne, straightening himself in his seat, + as if he were prepared to rise. + </p> + <p> + The young lady paused in front of his bench, near the parapet of the + garden, which overlooked the lake. The little boy had now converted his + alpenstock into a vaulting pole, by the aid of which he was springing + about in the gravel and kicking it up not a little. + </p> + <p> + “Randolph,” said the young lady, “what ARE you doing?” + </p> + <p> + “I’m going up the Alps,” replied Randolph. “This is the way!” And he gave + another little jump, scattering the pebbles about Winterbourne’s ears. + </p> + <p> + “That’s the way they come down,” said Winterbourne. + </p> + <p> + “He’s an American man!” cried Randolph, in his little hard voice. + </p> + <p> + The young lady gave no heed to this announcement, but looked straight at + her brother. “Well, I guess you had better be quiet,” she simply observed. + </p> + <p> + It seemed to Winterbourne that he had been in a manner presented. He got + up and stepped slowly toward the young girl, throwing away his cigarette. + “This little boy and I have made acquaintance,” he said, with great + civility. In Geneva, as he had been perfectly aware, a young man was not + at liberty to speak to a young unmarried lady except under certain rarely + occurring conditions; but here at Vevey, what conditions could be better + than these?—a pretty American girl coming and standing in front of + you in a garden. This pretty American girl, however, on hearing + Winterbourne’s observation, simply glanced at him; she then turned her + head and looked over the parapet, at the lake and the opposite mountains. + He wondered whether he had gone too far, but he decided that he must + advance farther, rather than retreat. While he was thinking of something + else to say, the young lady turned to the little boy again. + </p> + <p> + “I should like to know where you got that pole,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “I bought it,” responded Randolph. + </p> + <p> + “You don’t mean to say you’re going to take it to Italy?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I am going to take it to Italy,” the child declared. + </p> + <p> + The young girl glanced over the front of her dress and smoothed out a knot + or two of ribbon. Then she rested her eyes upon the prospect again. “Well, + I guess you had better leave it somewhere,” she said after a moment. + </p> + <p> + “Are you going to Italy?” Winterbourne inquired in a tone of great + respect. + </p> + <p> + The young lady glanced at him again. “Yes, sir,” she replied. And she said + nothing more. + </p> + <p> + “Are you—a—going over the Simplon?” Winterbourne pursued, a + little embarrassed. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know,” she said. “I suppose it’s some mountain. Randolph, what + mountain are we going over?” + </p> + <p> + “Going where?” the child demanded. + </p> + <p> + “To Italy,” Winterbourne explained. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know,” said Randolph. “I don’t want to go to Italy. I want to go + to America.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Italy is a beautiful place!” rejoined the young man. + </p> + <p> + “Can you get candy there?” Randolph loudly inquired. + </p> + <p> + “I hope not,” said his sister. “I guess you have had enough candy, and + mother thinks so too.” + </p> + <p> + “I haven’t had any for ever so long—for a hundred weeks!” cried the + boy, still jumping about. + </p> + <p> + The young lady inspected her flounces and smoothed her ribbons again; and + Winterbourne presently risked an observation upon the beauty of the view. + He was ceasing to be embarrassed, for he had begun to perceive that she + was not in the least embarrassed herself. There had not been the slightest + alteration in her charming complexion; she was evidently neither offended + nor flattered. If she looked another way when he spoke to her, and seemed + not particularly to hear him, this was simply her habit, her manner. Yet, + as he talked a little more and pointed out some of the objects of interest + in the view, with which she appeared quite unacquainted, she gradually + gave him more of the benefit of her glance; and then he saw that this + glance was perfectly direct and unshrinking. It was not, however, what + would have been called an immodest glance, for the young girl’s eyes were + singularly honest and fresh. They were wonderfully pretty eyes; and, + indeed, Winterbourne had not seen for a long time anything prettier than + his fair countrywoman’s various features—her complexion, her nose, + her ears, her teeth. He had a great relish for feminine beauty; he was + addicted to observing and analyzing it; and as regards this young lady’s + face he made several observations. It was not at all insipid, but it was + not exactly expressive; and though it was eminently delicate, Winterbourne + mentally accused it—very forgivingly—of a want of finish. He + thought it very possible that Master Randolph’s sister was a coquette; he + was sure she had a spirit of her own; but in her bright, sweet, + superficial little visage there was no mockery, no irony. Before long it + became obvious that she was much disposed toward conversation. She told + him that they were going to Rome for the winter—she and her mother + and Randolph. She asked him if he was a “real American”; she shouldn’t + have taken him for one; he seemed more like a German—this was said + after a little hesitation—especially when he spoke. Winterbourne, + laughing, answered that he had met Germans who spoke like Americans, but + that he had not, so far as he remembered, met an American who spoke like a + German. Then he asked her if she should not be more comfortable in sitting + upon the bench which he had just quitted. She answered that she liked + standing up and walking about; but she presently sat down. She told him + she was from New York State—“if you know where that is.” + Winterbourne learned more about her by catching hold of her small, + slippery brother and making him stand a few minutes by his side. + </p> + <p> + “Tell me your name, my boy,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Randolph C. Miller,” said the boy sharply. “And I’ll tell you her name;” + and he leveled his alpenstock at his sister. + </p> + <p> + “You had better wait till you are asked!” said this young lady calmly. + </p> + <p> + “I should like very much to know your name,” said Winterbourne. + </p> + <p> + “Her name is Daisy Miller!” cried the child. “But that isn’t her real + name; that isn’t her name on her cards.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s a pity you haven’t got one of my cards!” said Miss Miller. + </p> + <p> + “Her real name is Annie P. Miller,” the boy went on. + </p> + <p> + “Ask him HIS name,” said his sister, indicating Winterbourne. + </p> + <p> + But on this point Randolph seemed perfectly indifferent; he continued to + supply information with regard to his own family. “My father’s name is + Ezra B. Miller,” he announced. “My father ain’t in Europe; my father’s in + a better place than Europe.” + </p> + <p> + Winterbourne imagined for a moment that this was the manner in which the + child had been taught to intimate that Mr. Miller had been removed to the + sphere of celestial reward. But Randolph immediately added, “My father’s + in Schenectady. He’s got a big business. My father’s rich, you bet!” + </p> + <p> + “Well!” ejaculated Miss Miller, lowering her parasol and looking at the + embroidered border. Winterbourne presently released the child, who + departed, dragging his alpenstock along the path. “He doesn’t like + Europe,” said the young girl. “He wants to go back.” + </p> + <p> + “To Schenectady, you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; he wants to go right home. He hasn’t got any boys here. There is one + boy here, but he always goes round with a teacher; they won’t let him + play.” + </p> + <p> + “And your brother hasn’t any teacher?” Winterbourne inquired. + </p> + <p> + “Mother thought of getting him one, to travel round with us. There was a + lady told her of a very good teacher; an American lady—perhaps you + know her—Mrs. Sanders. I think she came from Boston. She told her of + this teacher, and we thought of getting him to travel round with us. But + Randolph said he didn’t want a teacher traveling round with us. He said he + wouldn’t have lessons when he was in the cars. And we ARE in the cars + about half the time. There was an English lady we met in the cars—I + think her name was Miss Featherstone; perhaps you know her. She wanted to + know why I didn’t give Randolph lessons—give him ‘instruction,’ she + called it. I guess he could give me more instruction than I could give + him. He’s very smart.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Winterbourne; “he seems very smart.” + </p> + <p> + “Mother’s going to get a teacher for him as soon as we get to Italy. Can + you get good teachers in Italy?” + </p> + <p> + “Very good, I should think,” said Winterbourne. + </p> + <p> + “Or else she’s going to find some school. He ought to learn some more. + He’s only nine. He’s going to college.” And in this way Miss Miller + continued to converse upon the affairs of her family and upon other + topics. She sat there with her extremely pretty hands, ornamented with + very brilliant rings, folded in her lap, and with her pretty eyes now + resting upon those of Winterbourne, now wandering over the garden, the + people who passed by, and the beautiful view. She talked to Winterbourne + as if she had known him a long time. He found it very pleasant. It was + many years since he had heard a young girl talk so much. It might have + been said of this unknown young lady, who had come and sat down beside him + upon a bench, that she chattered. She was very quiet; she sat in a + charming, tranquil attitude; but her lips and her eyes were constantly + moving. She had a soft, slender, agreeable voice, and her tone was + decidedly sociable. She gave Winterbourne a history of her movements and + intentions and those of her mother and brother, in Europe, and enumerated, + in particular, the various hotels at which they had stopped. “That English + lady in the cars,” she said—“Miss Featherstone—asked me if we + didn’t all live in hotels in America. I told her I had never been in so + many hotels in my life as since I came to Europe. I have never seen so + many—it’s nothing but hotels.” But Miss Miller did not make this + remark with a querulous accent; she appeared to be in the best humor with + everything. She declared that the hotels were very good, when once you got + used to their ways, and that Europe was perfectly sweet. She was not + disappointed—not a bit. Perhaps it was because she had heard so much + about it before. She had ever so many intimate friends that had been there + ever so many times. And then she had had ever so many dresses and things + from Paris. Whenever she put on a Paris dress she felt as if she were in + Europe. + </p> + <p> + “It was a kind of a wishing cap,” said Winterbourne. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Miss Miller without examining this analogy; “it always made me + wish I was here. But I needn’t have done that for dresses. I am sure they + send all the pretty ones to America; you see the most frightful things + here. The only thing I don’t like,” she proceeded, “is the society. There + isn’t any society; or, if there is, I don’t know where it keeps itself. Do + you? I suppose there is some society somewhere, but I haven’t seen + anything of it. I’m very fond of society, and I have always had a great + deal of it. I don’t mean only in Schenectady, but in New York. I used to + go to New York every winter. In New York I had lots of society. Last + winter I had seventeen dinners given me; and three of them were by + gentlemen,” added Daisy Miller. “I have more friends in New York than in + Schenectady—more gentleman friends; and more young lady friends + too,” she resumed in a moment. She paused again for an instant; she was + looking at Winterbourne with all her prettiness in her lively eyes and in + her light, slightly monotonous smile. “I have always had,” she said, “a + great deal of gentlemen’s society.” + </p> + <p> + Poor Winterbourne was amused, perplexed, and decidedly charmed. He had + never yet heard a young girl express herself in just this fashion; never, + at least, save in cases where to say such things seemed a kind of + demonstrative evidence of a certain laxity of deportment. And yet was he + to accuse Miss Daisy Miller of actual or potential inconduite, as they + said at Geneva? He felt that he had lived at Geneva so long that he had + lost a good deal; he had become dishabituated to the American tone. Never, + indeed, since he had grown old enough to appreciate things, had he + encountered a young American girl of so pronounced a type as this. + Certainly she was very charming, but how deucedly sociable! Was she simply + a pretty girl from New York State? Were they all like that, the pretty + girls who had a good deal of gentlemen’s society? Or was she also a + designing, an audacious, an unscrupulous young person? Winterbourne had + lost his instinct in this matter, and his reason could not help him. Miss + Daisy Miller looked extremely innocent. Some people had told him that, + after all, American girls were exceedingly innocent; and others had told + him that, after all, they were not. He was inclined to think Miss Daisy + Miller was a flirt—a pretty American flirt. He had never, as yet, + had any relations with young ladies of this category. He had known, here + in Europe, two or three women—persons older than Miss Daisy Miller, + and provided, for respectability’s sake, with husbands—who were + great coquettes—dangerous, terrible women, with whom one’s relations + were liable to take a serious turn. But this young girl was not a coquette + in that sense; she was very unsophisticated; she was only a pretty + American flirt. Winterbourne was almost grateful for having found the + formula that applied to Miss Daisy Miller. He leaned back in his seat; he + remarked to himself that she had the most charming nose he had ever seen; + he wondered what were the regular conditions and limitations of one’s + intercourse with a pretty American flirt. It presently became apparent + that he was on the way to learn. + </p> + <p> + “Have you been to that old castle?” asked the young girl, pointing with + her parasol to the far-gleaming walls of the Chateau de Chillon. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, formerly, more than once,” said Winterbourne. “You too, I suppose, + have seen it?” + </p> + <p> + “No; we haven’t been there. I want to go there dreadfully. Of course I + mean to go there. I wouldn’t go away from here without having seen that + old castle.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s a very pretty excursion,” said Winterbourne, “and very easy to make. + You can drive, you know, or you can go by the little steamer.” + </p> + <p> + “You can go in the cars,” said Miss Miller. + </p> + <p> + “Yes; you can go in the cars,” Winterbourne assented. + </p> + <p> + “Our courier says they take you right up to the castle,” the young girl + continued. “We were going last week, but my mother gave out. She suffers + dreadfully from dyspepsia. She said she couldn’t go. Randolph wouldn’t go + either; he says he doesn’t think much of old castles. But I guess we’ll go + this week, if we can get Randolph.” + </p> + <p> + “Your brother is not interested in ancient monuments?” Winterbourne + inquired, smiling. + </p> + <p> + “He says he don’t care much about old castles. He’s only nine. He wants to + stay at the hotel. Mother’s afraid to leave him alone, and the courier + won’t stay with him; so we haven’t been to many places. But it will be too + bad if we don’t go up there.” And Miss Miller pointed again at the Chateau + de Chillon. + </p> + <p> + “I should think it might be arranged,” said Winterbourne. “Couldn’t you + get some one to stay for the afternoon with Randolph?” + </p> + <p> + Miss Miller looked at him a moment, and then, very placidly, “I wish YOU + would stay with him!” she said. + </p> + <p> + Winterbourne hesitated a moment. “I should much rather go to Chillon with + you.” + </p> + <p> + “With me?” asked the young girl with the same placidity. + </p> + <p> + She didn’t rise, blushing, as a young girl at Geneva would have done; and + yet Winterbourne, conscious that he had been very bold, thought it + possible she was offended. “With your mother,” he answered very + respectfully. + </p> + <p> + But it seemed that both his audacity and his respect were lost upon Miss + Daisy Miller. “I guess my mother won’t go, after all,” she said. “She + don’t like to ride round in the afternoon. But did you really mean what + you said just now—that you would like to go up there?” + </p> + <p> + “Most earnestly,” Winterbourne declared. + </p> + <p> + “Then we may arrange it. If mother will stay with Randolph, I guess + Eugenio will.” + </p> + <p> + “Eugenio?” the young man inquired. + </p> + <p> + “Eugenio’s our courier. He doesn’t like to stay with Randolph; he’s the + most fastidious man I ever saw. But he’s a splendid courier. I guess he’ll + stay at home with Randolph if mother does, and then we can go to the + castle.” + </p> + <p> + Winterbourne reflected for an instant as lucidly as possible—“we” + could only mean Miss Daisy Miller and himself. This program seemed almost + too agreeable for credence; he felt as if he ought to kiss the young + lady’s hand. Possibly he would have done so and quite spoiled the project, + but at this moment another person, presumably Eugenio, appeared. A tall, + handsome man, with superb whiskers, wearing a velvet morning coat and a + brilliant watch chain, approached Miss Miller, looking sharply at her + companion. “Oh, Eugenio!” said Miss Miller with the friendliest accent. + </p> + <p> + Eugenio had looked at Winterbourne from head to foot; he now bowed gravely + to the young lady. “I have the honor to inform mademoiselle that luncheon + is upon the table.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Miller slowly rose. “See here, Eugenio!” she said; “I’m going to that + old castle, anyway.” + </p> + <p> + “To the Chateau de Chillon, mademoiselle?” the courier inquired. + “Mademoiselle has made arrangements?” he added in a tone which struck + Winterbourne as very impertinent. + </p> + <p> + Eugenio’s tone apparently threw, even to Miss Miller’s own apprehension, a + slightly ironical light upon the young girl’s situation. She turned to + Winterbourne, blushing a little—a very little. “You won’t back out?” + she said. + </p> + <p> + “I shall not be happy till we go!” he protested. + </p> + <p> + “And you are staying in this hotel?” she went on. “And you are really an + American?” + </p> + <p> + The courier stood looking at Winterbourne offensively. The young man, at + least, thought his manner of looking an offense to Miss Miller; it + conveyed an imputation that she “picked up” acquaintances. “I shall have + the honor of presenting to you a person who will tell you all about me,” + he said, smiling and referring to his aunt. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, well, we’ll go some day,” said Miss Miller. And she gave him a smile + and turned away. She put up her parasol and walked back to the inn beside + Eugenio. Winterbourne stood looking after her; and as she moved away, + drawing her muslin furbelows over the gravel, said to himself that she had + the tournure of a princess. + </p> + <p> + He had, however, engaged to do more than proved feasible, in promising to + present his aunt, Mrs. Costello, to Miss Daisy Miller. As soon as the + former lady had got better of her headache, he waited upon her in her + apartment; and, after the proper inquiries in regard to her health, he + asked her if she had observed in the hotel an American family—a + mamma, a daughter, and a little boy. + </p> + <p> + “And a courier?” said Mrs. Costello. “Oh yes, I have observed them. Seen + them—heard them—and kept out of their way.” Mrs. Costello was + a widow with a fortune; a person of much distinction, who frequently + intimated that, if she were not so dreadfully liable to sick headaches, + she would probably have left a deeper impress upon her time. She had a + long, pale face, a high nose, and a great deal of very striking white + hair, which she wore in large puffs and rouleaux over the top of her head. + She had two sons married in New York and another who was now in Europe. + This young man was amusing himself at Hamburg, and, though he was on his + travels, was rarely perceived to visit any particular city at the moment + selected by his mother for her own appearance there. Her nephew, who had + come up to Vevey expressly to see her, was therefore more attentive than + those who, as she said, were nearer to her. He had imbibed at Geneva the + idea that one must always be attentive to one’s aunt. Mrs. Costello had + not seen him for many years, and she was greatly pleased with him, + manifesting her approbation by initiating him into many of the secrets of + that social sway which, as she gave him to understand, she exerted in the + American capital. She admitted that she was very exclusive; but, if he + were acquainted with New York, he would see that one had to be. And her + picture of the minutely hierarchical constitution of the society of that + city, which she presented to him in many different lights, was, to + Winterbourne’s imagination, almost oppressively striking. + </p> + <p> + He immediately perceived, from her tone, that Miss Daisy Miller’s place in + the social scale was low. “I am afraid you don’t approve of them,” he + said. + </p> + <p> + “They are very common,” Mrs. Costello declared. “They are the sort of + Americans that one does one’s duty by not—not accepting.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, you don’t accept them?” said the young man. + </p> + <p> + “I can’t, my dear Frederick. I would if I could, but I can’t.” + </p> + <p> + “The young girl is very pretty,” said Winterbourne in a moment. + </p> + <p> + “Of course she’s pretty. But she is very common.” + </p> + <p> + “I see what you mean, of course,” said Winterbourne after another pause. + </p> + <p> + “She has that charming look that they all have,” his aunt resumed. “I + can’t think where they pick it up; and she dresses in perfection—no, + you don’t know how well she dresses. I can’t think where they get their + taste.” + </p> + <p> + “But, my dear aunt, she is not, after all, a Comanche savage.” + </p> + <p> + “She is a young lady,” said Mrs. Costello, “who has an intimacy with her + mamma’s courier.” + </p> + <p> + “An intimacy with the courier?” the young man demanded. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, the mother is just as bad! They treat the courier like a familiar + friend—like a gentleman. I shouldn’t wonder if he dines with them. + Very likely they have never seen a man with such good manners, such fine + clothes, so like a gentleman. He probably corresponds to the young lady’s + idea of a count. He sits with them in the garden in the evening. I think + he smokes.” + </p> + <p> + Winterbourne listened with interest to these disclosures; they helped him + to make up his mind about Miss Daisy. Evidently she was rather wild. + “Well,” he said, “I am not a courier, and yet she was very charming to + me.” + </p> + <p> + “You had better have said at first,” said Mrs. Costello with dignity, + “that you had made her acquaintance.” + </p> + <p> + “We simply met in the garden, and we talked a bit.” + </p> + <p> + “Tout bonnement! And pray what did you say?” + </p> + <p> + “I said I should take the liberty of introducing her to my admirable + aunt.” + </p> + <p> + “I am much obliged to you.” + </p> + <p> + “It was to guarantee my respectability,” said Winterbourne. + </p> + <p> + “And pray who is to guarantee hers?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, you are cruel!” said the young man. “She’s a very nice young girl.” + </p> + <p> + “You don’t say that as if you believed it,” Mrs. Costello observed. + </p> + <p> + “She is completely uncultivated,” Winterbourne went on. “But she is + wonderfully pretty, and, in short, she is very nice. To prove that I + believe it, I am going to take her to the Chateau de Chillon.” + </p> + <p> + “You two are going off there together? I should say it proved just the + contrary. How long had you known her, may I ask, when this interesting + project was formed? You haven’t been twenty-four hours in the house.” + </p> + <p> + “I have known her half an hour!” said Winterbourne, smiling. + </p> + <p> + “Dear me!” cried Mrs. Costello. “What a dreadful girl!” + </p> + <p> + Her nephew was silent for some moments. “You really think, then,” he began + earnestly, and with a desire for trustworthy information—“you really + think that—” But he paused again. + </p> + <p> + “Think what, sir?” said his aunt. + </p> + <p> + “That she is the sort of young lady who expects a man, sooner or later, to + carry her off?” + </p> + <p> + “I haven’t the least idea what such young ladies expect a man to do. But I + really think that you had better not meddle with little American girls + that are uncultivated, as you call them. You have lived too long out of + the country. You will be sure to make some great mistake. You are too + innocent.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear aunt, I am not so innocent,” said Winterbourne, smiling and + curling his mustache. + </p> + <p> + “You are guilty too, then!” + </p> + <p> + Winterbourne continued to curl his mustache meditatively. “You won’t let + the poor girl know you then?” he asked at last. + </p> + <p> + “Is it literally true that she is going to the Chateau de Chillon with + you?” + </p> + <p> + “I think that she fully intends it.” + </p> + <p> + “Then, my dear Frederick,” said Mrs. Costello, “I must decline the honor + of her acquaintance. I am an old woman, but I am not too old, thank + Heaven, to be shocked!” + </p> + <p> + “But don’t they all do these things—the young girls in America?” + Winterbourne inquired. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Costello stared a moment. “I should like to see my granddaughters do + them!” she declared grimly. + </p> + <p> + This seemed to throw some light upon the matter, for Winterbourne + remembered to have heard that his pretty cousins in New York were + “tremendous flirts.” If, therefore, Miss Daisy Miller exceeded the liberal + margin allowed to these young ladies, it was probable that anything might + be expected of her. Winterbourne was impatient to see her again, and he + was vexed with himself that, by instinct, he should not appreciate her + justly. + </p> + <p> + Though he was impatient to see her, he hardly knew what he should say to + her about his aunt’s refusal to become acquainted with her; but he + discovered, promptly enough, that with Miss Daisy Miller there was no + great need of walking on tiptoe. He found her that evening in the garden, + wandering about in the warm starlight like an indolent sylph, and swinging + to and fro the largest fan he had ever beheld. It was ten o’clock. He had + dined with his aunt, had been sitting with her since dinner, and had just + taken leave of her till the morrow. Miss Daisy Miller seemed very glad to + see him; she declared it was the longest evening she had ever passed. + </p> + <p> + “Have you been all alone?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “I have been walking round with mother. But mother gets tired walking + round,” she answered. + </p> + <p> + “Has she gone to bed?” + </p> + <p> + “No; she doesn’t like to go to bed,” said the young girl. “She doesn’t + sleep—not three hours. She says she doesn’t know how she lives. + She’s dreadfully nervous. I guess she sleeps more than she thinks. She’s + gone somewhere after Randolph; she wants to try to get him to go to bed. + He doesn’t like to go to bed.” + </p> + <p> + “Let us hope she will persuade him,” observed Winterbourne. + </p> + <p> + “She will talk to him all she can; but he doesn’t like her to talk to + him,” said Miss Daisy, opening her fan. “She’s going to try to get Eugenio + to talk to him. But he isn’t afraid of Eugenio. Eugenio’s a splendid + courier, but he can’t make much impression on Randolph! I don’t believe + he’ll go to bed before eleven.” It appeared that Randolph’s vigil was in + fact triumphantly prolonged, for Winterbourne strolled about with the + young girl for some time without meeting her mother. “I have been looking + round for that lady you want to introduce me to,” his companion resumed. + “She’s your aunt.” Then, on Winterbourne’s admitting the fact and + expressing some curiosity as to how she had learned it, she said she had + heard all about Mrs. Costello from the chambermaid. She was very quiet and + very comme il faut; she wore white puffs; she spoke to no one, and she + never dined at the table d’hote. Every two days she had a headache. “I + think that’s a lovely description, headache and all!” said Miss Daisy, + chattering along in her thin, gay voice. “I want to know her ever so much. + I know just what YOUR aunt would be; I know I should like her. She would + be very exclusive. I like a lady to be exclusive; I’m dying to be + exclusive myself. Well, we ARE exclusive, mother and I. We don’t speak to + everyone—or they don’t speak to us. I suppose it’s about the same + thing. Anyway, I shall be ever so glad to know your aunt.” + </p> + <p> + Winterbourne was embarrassed. “She would be most happy,” he said; “but I + am afraid those headaches will interfere.” + </p> + <p> + The young girl looked at him through the dusk. “But I suppose she doesn’t + have a headache every day,” she said sympathetically. + </p> + <p> + Winterbourne was silent a moment. “She tells me she does,” he answered at + last, not knowing what to say. + </p> + <p> + Miss Daisy Miller stopped and stood looking at him. Her prettiness was + still visible in the darkness; she was opening and closing her enormous + fan. “She doesn’t want to know me!” she said suddenly. “Why don’t you say + so? You needn’t be afraid. I’m not afraid!” And she gave a little laugh. + </p> + <p> + Winterbourne fancied there was a tremor in her voice; he was touched, + shocked, mortified by it. “My dear young lady,” he protested, “she knows + no one. It’s her wretched health.” + </p> + <p> + The young girl walked on a few steps, laughing still. “You needn’t be + afraid,” she repeated. “Why should she want to know me?” Then she paused + again; she was close to the parapet of the garden, and in front of her was + the starlit lake. There was a vague sheen upon its surface, and in the + distance were dimly seen mountain forms. Daisy Miller looked out upon the + mysterious prospect and then she gave another little laugh. “Gracious! she + IS exclusive!” she said. Winterbourne wondered whether she was seriously + wounded, and for a moment almost wished that her sense of injury might be + such as to make it becoming in him to attempt to reassure and comfort her. + He had a pleasant sense that she would be very approachable for + consolatory purposes. He felt then, for the instant, quite ready to + sacrifice his aunt, conversationally; to admit that she was a proud, rude + woman, and to declare that they needn’t mind her. But before he had time + to commit himself to this perilous mixture of gallantry and impiety, the + young lady, resuming her walk, gave an exclamation in quite another tone. + “Well, here’s Mother! I guess she hasn’t got Randolph to go to bed.” The + figure of a lady appeared at a distance, very indistinct in the darkness, + and advancing with a slow and wavering movement. Suddenly it seemed to + pause. + </p> + <p> + “Are you sure it is your mother? Can you distinguish her in this thick + dusk?” Winterbourne asked. + </p> + <p> + “Well!” cried Miss Daisy Miller with a laugh; “I guess I know my own + mother. And when she has got on my shawl, too! She is always wearing my + things.” + </p> + <p> + The lady in question, ceasing to advance, hovered vaguely about the spot + at which she had checked her steps. + </p> + <p> + “I am afraid your mother doesn’t see you,” said Winterbourne. “Or + perhaps,” he added, thinking, with Miss Miller, the joke permissible—“perhaps + she feels guilty about your shawl.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it’s a fearful old thing!” the young girl replied serenely. “I told + her she could wear it. She won’t come here because she sees you.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, then,” said Winterbourne, “I had better leave you.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no; come on!” urged Miss Daisy Miller. + </p> + <p> + “I’m afraid your mother doesn’t approve of my walking with you.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Miller gave him a serious glance. “It isn’t for me; it’s for you—that + is, it’s for HER. Well, I don’t know who it’s for! But mother doesn’t like + any of my gentlemen friends. She’s right down timid. She always makes a + fuss if I introduce a gentleman. But I DO introduce them—almost + always. If I didn’t introduce my gentlemen friends to Mother,” the young + girl added in her little soft, flat monotone, “I shouldn’t think I was + natural.” + </p> + <p> + “To introduce me,” said Winterbourne, “you must know my name.” And he + proceeded to pronounce it. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, dear, I can’t say all that!” said his companion with a laugh. But by + this time they had come up to Mrs. Miller, who, as they drew near, walked + to the parapet of the garden and leaned upon it, looking intently at the + lake and turning her back to them. “Mother!” said the young girl in a tone + of decision. Upon this the elder lady turned round. “Mr. Winterbourne,” + said Miss Daisy Miller, introducing the young man very frankly and + prettily. “Common,” she was, as Mrs. Costello had pronounced her; yet it + was a wonder to Winterbourne that, with her commonness, she had a + singularly delicate grace. + </p> + <p> + Her mother was a small, spare, light person, with a wandering eye, a very + exiguous nose, and a large forehead, decorated with a certain amount of + thin, much frizzled hair. Like her daughter, Mrs. Miller was dressed with + extreme elegance; she had enormous diamonds in her ears. So far as + Winterbourne could observe, she gave him no greeting—she certainly + was not looking at him. Daisy was near her, pulling her shawl straight. + “What are you doing, poking round here?” this young lady inquired, but by + no means with that harshness of accent which her choice of words may + imply. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know,” said her mother, turning toward the lake again. + </p> + <p> + “I shouldn’t think you’d want that shawl!” Daisy exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “Well I do!” her mother answered with a little laugh. + </p> + <p> + “Did you get Randolph to go to bed?” asked the young girl. + </p> + <p> + “No; I couldn’t induce him,” said Mrs. Miller very gently. “He wants to + talk to the waiter. He likes to talk to that waiter.” + </p> + <p> + “I was telling Mr. Winterbourne,” the young girl went on; and to the young + man’s ear her tone might have indicated that she had been uttering his + name all her life. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes!” said Winterbourne; “I have the pleasure of knowing your son.” + </p> + <p> + Randolph’s mamma was silent; she turned her attention to the lake. But at + last she spoke. “Well, I don’t see how he lives!” + </p> + <p> + “Anyhow, it isn’t so bad as it was at Dover,” said Daisy Miller. + </p> + <p> + “And what occurred at Dover?” Winterbourne asked. + </p> + <p> + “He wouldn’t go to bed at all. I guess he sat up all night in the public + parlor. He wasn’t in bed at twelve o’clock: I know that.” + </p> + <p> + “It was half-past twelve,” declared Mrs. Miller with mild emphasis. + </p> + <p> + “Does he sleep much during the day?” Winterbourne demanded. + </p> + <p> + “I guess he doesn’t sleep much,” Daisy rejoined. + </p> + <p> + “I wish he would!” said her mother. “It seems as if he couldn’t.” + </p> + <p> + “I think he’s real tiresome,” Daisy pursued. + </p> + <p> + Then, for some moments, there was silence. “Well, Daisy Miller,” said the + elder lady, presently, “I shouldn’t think you’d want to talk against your + own brother!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, he IS tiresome, Mother,” said Daisy, quite without the asperity of + a retort. + </p> + <p> + “He’s only nine,” urged Mrs. Miller. + </p> + <p> + “Well, he wouldn’t go to that castle,” said the young girl. “I’m going + there with Mr. Winterbourne.” + </p> + <p> + To this announcement, very placidly made, Daisy’s mamma offered no + response. Winterbourne took for granted that she deeply disapproved of the + projected excursion; but he said to himself that she was a simple, easily + managed person, and that a few deferential protestations would take the + edge from her displeasure. “Yes,” he began; “your daughter has kindly + allowed me the honor of being her guide.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Miller’s wandering eyes attached themselves, with a sort of appealing + air, to Daisy, who, however, strolled a few steps farther, gently humming + to herself. “I presume you will go in the cars,” said her mother. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, or in the boat,” said Winterbourne. + </p> + <p> + “Well, of course, I don’t know,” Mrs. Miller rejoined. “I have never been + to that castle.” + </p> + <p> + “It is a pity you shouldn’t go,” said Winterbourne, beginning to feel + reassured as to her opposition. And yet he was quite prepared to find + that, as a matter of course, she meant to accompany her daughter. + </p> + <p> + “We’ve been thinking ever so much about going,” she pursued; “but it seems + as if we couldn’t. Of course Daisy—she wants to go round. But + there’s a lady here—I don’t know her name—she says she + shouldn’t think we’d want to go to see castles HERE; she should think we’d + want to wait till we got to Italy. It seems as if there would be so many + there,” continued Mrs. Miller with an air of increasing confidence. “Of + course we only want to see the principal ones. We visited several in + England,” she presently added. + </p> + <p> + “Ah yes! in England there are beautiful castles,” said Winterbourne. “But + Chillon here, is very well worth seeing.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, if Daisy feels up to it—” said Mrs. Miller, in a tone + impregnated with a sense of the magnitude of the enterprise. “It seems as + if there was nothing she wouldn’t undertake.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I think she’ll enjoy it!” Winterbourne declared. And he desired more + and more to make it a certainty that he was to have the privilege of a + tete-a-tete with the young lady, who was still strolling along in front of + them, softly vocalizing. “You are not disposed, madam,” he inquired, “to + undertake it yourself?” + </p> + <p> + Daisy’s mother looked at him an instant askance, and then walked forward + in silence. Then—“I guess she had better go alone,” she said simply. + Winterbourne observed to himself that this was a very different type of + maternity from that of the vigilant matrons who massed themselves in the + forefront of social intercourse in the dark old city at the other end of + the lake. But his meditations were interrupted by hearing his name very + distinctly pronounced by Mrs. Miller’s unprotected daughter. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Winterbourne!” murmured Daisy. + </p> + <p> + “Mademoiselle!” said the young man. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t you want to take me out in a boat?” + </p> + <p> + “At present?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Of course!” said Daisy. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Annie Miller!” exclaimed her mother. + </p> + <p> + “I beg you, madam, to let her go,” said Winterbourne ardently; for he had + never yet enjoyed the sensation of guiding through the summer starlight a + skiff freighted with a fresh and beautiful young girl. + </p> + <p> + “I shouldn’t think she’d want to,” said her mother. “I should think she’d + rather go indoors.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m sure Mr. Winterbourne wants to take me,” Daisy declared. “He’s so + awfully devoted!” + </p> + <p> + “I will row you over to Chillon in the starlight.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t believe it!” said Daisy. + </p> + <p> + “Well!” ejaculated the elder lady again. + </p> + <p> + “You haven’t spoken to me for half an hour,” her daughter went on. + </p> + <p> + “I have been having some very pleasant conversation with your mother,” + said Winterbourne. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I want you to take me out in a boat!” Daisy repeated. They had all + stopped, and she had turned round and was looking at Winterbourne. Her + face wore a charming smile, her pretty eyes were gleaming, she was + swinging her great fan about. No; it’s impossible to be prettier than + that, thought Winterbourne. + </p> + <p> + “There are half a dozen boats moored at that landing place,” he said, + pointing to certain steps which descended from the garden to the lake. “If + you will do me the honor to accept my arm, we will go and select one of + them.” + </p> + <p> + Daisy stood there smiling; she threw back her head and gave a little, + light laugh. “I like a gentleman to be formal!” she declared. + </p> + <p> + “I assure you it’s a formal offer.” + </p> + <p> + “I was bound I would make you say something,” Daisy went on. + </p> + <p> + “You see, it’s not very difficult,” said Winterbourne. “But I am afraid + you are chaffing me.” + </p> + <p> + “I think not, sir,” remarked Mrs. Miller very gently. + </p> + <p> + “Do, then, let me give you a row,” he said to the young girl. + </p> + <p> + “It’s quite lovely, the way you say that!” cried Daisy. + </p> + <p> + “It will be still more lovely to do it.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it would be lovely!” said Daisy. But she made no movement to + accompany him; she only stood there laughing. + </p> + <p> + “I should think you had better find out what time it is,” interposed her + mother. + </p> + <p> + “It is eleven o’clock, madam,” said a voice, with a foreign accent, out of + the neighboring darkness; and Winterbourne, turning, perceived the florid + personage who was in attendance upon the two ladies. He had apparently + just approached. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Eugenio,” said Daisy, “I am going out in a boat!” + </p> + <p> + Eugenio bowed. “At eleven o’clock, mademoiselle?” + </p> + <p> + “I am going with Mr. Winterbourne—this very minute.” + </p> + <p> + “Do tell her she can’t,” said Mrs. Miller to the courier. + </p> + <p> + “I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle,” Eugenio + declared. + </p> + <p> + Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with + her courier; but he said nothing. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose you don’t think it’s proper!” Daisy exclaimed. “Eugenio doesn’t + think anything’s proper.” + </p> + <p> + “I am at your service,” said Winterbourne. + </p> + <p> + “Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?” asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no; with this gentleman!” answered Daisy’s mamma. + </p> + <p> + The courier looked for a moment at Winterbourne—the latter thought + he was smiling—and then, solemnly, with a bow, “As mademoiselle + pleases!” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!” said Daisy. “I don’t care to go now.” + </p> + <p> + “I myself shall make a fuss if you don’t go,” said Winterbourne. + </p> + <p> + “That’s all I want—a little fuss!” And the young girl began to laugh + again. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!” the courier announced frigidly. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Daisy; now we can go!” said Mrs. Miller. + </p> + <p> + Daisy turned away from Winterbourne, looking at him, smiling and fanning + herself. “Good night,” she said; “I hope you are disappointed, or + disgusted, or something!” + </p> + <p> + He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. “I am puzzled,” he + answered. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I hope it won’t keep you awake!” she said very smartly; and, under + the escort of the privileged Eugenio, the two ladies passed toward the + house. + </p> + <p> + Winterbourne stood looking after them; he was indeed puzzled. He lingered + beside the lake for a quarter of an hour, turning over the mystery of the + young girl’s sudden familiarities and caprices. But the only very definite + conclusion he came to was that he should enjoy deucedly “going off” with + her somewhere. + </p> + <p> + Two days afterward he went off with her to the Castle of Chillon. He + waited for her in the large hall of the hotel, where the couriers, the + servants, the foreign tourists, were lounging about and staring. It was + not the place he should have chosen, but she had appointed it. She came + tripping downstairs, buttoning her long gloves, squeezing her folded + parasol against her pretty figure, dressed in the perfection of a soberly + elegant traveling costume. Winterbourne was a man of imagination and, as + our ancestors used to say, sensibility; as he looked at her dress and, on + the great staircase, her little rapid, confiding step, he felt as if there + were something romantic going forward. He could have believed he was going + to elope with her. He passed out with her among all the idle people that + were assembled there; they were all looking at her very hard; she had + begun to chatter as soon as she joined him. Winterbourne’s preference had + been that they should be conveyed to Chillon in a carriage; but she + expressed a lively wish to go in the little steamer; she declared that she + had a passion for steamboats. There was always such a lovely breeze upon + the water, and you saw such lots of people. The sail was not long, but + Winterbourne’s companion found time to say a great many things. To the + young man himself their little excursion was so much of an escapade—an + adventure—that, even allowing for her habitual sense of freedom, he + had some expectation of seeing her regard it in the same way. But it must + be confessed that, in this particular, he was disappointed. Daisy Miller + was extremely animated, she was in charming spirits; but she was + apparently not at all excited; she was not fluttered; she avoided neither + his eyes nor those of anyone else; she blushed neither when she looked at + him nor when she felt that people were looking at her. People continued to + look at her a great deal, and Winterbourne took much satisfaction in his + pretty companion’s distinguished air. He had been a little afraid that she + would talk loud, laugh overmuch, and even, perhaps, desire to move about + the boat a good deal. But he quite forgot his fears; he sat smiling, with + his eyes upon her face, while, without moving from her place, she + delivered herself of a great number of original reflections. It was the + most charming garrulity he had ever heard. He had assented to the idea + that she was “common”; but was she so, after all, or was he simply getting + used to her commonness? Her conversation was chiefly of what + metaphysicians term the objective cast, but every now and then it took a + subjective turn. + </p> + <p> + “What on EARTH are you so grave about?” she suddenly demanded, fixing her + agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne’s. + </p> + <p> + “Am I grave?” he asked. “I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear.” + </p> + <p> + “You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that’s a grin, your + ears are very near together.” + </p> + <p> + “Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?” + </p> + <p> + “Pray do, and I’ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our + journey.” + </p> + <p> + “I never was better pleased in my life,” murmured Winterbourne. + </p> + <p> + She looked at him a moment and then burst into a little laugh. “I like to + make you say those things! You’re a queer mixture!” + </p> + <p> + In the castle, after they had landed, the subjective element decidedly + prevailed. Daisy tripped about the vaulted chambers, rustled her skirts in + the corkscrew staircases, flirted back with a pretty little cry and a + shudder from the edge of the oubliettes, and turned a singularly + well-shaped ear to everything that Winterbourne told her about the place. + But he saw that she cared very little for feudal antiquities and that the + dusky traditions of Chillon made but a slight impression upon her. They + had the good fortune to have been able to walk about without other + companionship than that of the custodian; and Winterbourne arranged with + this functionary that they should not be hurried—that they should + linger and pause wherever they chose. The custodian interpreted the + bargain generously—Winterbourne, on his side, had been generous—and + ended by leaving them quite to themselves. Miss Miller’s observations were + not remarkable for logical consistency; for anything she wanted to say she + was sure to find a pretext. She found a great many pretexts in the rugged + embrasures of Chillon for asking Winterbourne sudden questions about + himself—his family, his previous history, his tastes, his habits, + his intentions—and for supplying information upon corresponding + points in her own personality. Of her own tastes, habits, and intentions + Miss Miller was prepared to give the most definite, and indeed the most + favorable account. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I hope you know enough!” she said to her companion, after he had + told her the history of the unhappy Bonivard. “I never saw a man that knew + so much!” The history of Bonivard had evidently, as they say, gone into + one ear and out of the other. But Daisy went on to say that she wished + Winterbourne would travel with them and “go round” with them; they might + know something, in that case. “Don’t you want to come and teach Randolph?” + she asked. Winterbourne said that nothing could possibly please him so + much, but that he had unfortunately other occupations. “Other occupations? + I don’t believe it!” said Miss Daisy. “What do you mean? You are not in + business.” The young man admitted that he was not in business; but he had + engagements which, even within a day or two, would force him to go back to + Geneva. “Oh, bother!” she said; “I don’t believe it!” and she began to + talk about something else. But a few moments later, when he was pointing + out to her the pretty design of an antique fireplace, she broke out + irrelevantly, “You don’t mean to say you are going back to Geneva?” + </p> + <p> + “It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, Mr. Winterbourne,” said Daisy, “I think you’re horrid!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, don’t say such dreadful things!” said Winterbourne—“just at the + last!” + </p> + <p> + “The last!” cried the young girl; “I call it the first. I have half a mind + to leave you here and go straight back to the hotel alone.” And for the + next ten minutes she did nothing but call him horrid. Poor Winterbourne + was fairly bewildered; no young lady had as yet done him the honor to be + so agitated by the announcement of his movements. His companion, after + this, ceased to pay any attention to the curiosities of Chillon or the + beauties of the lake; she opened fire upon the mysterious charmer in + Geneva whom she appeared to have instantly taken it for granted that he + was hurrying back to see. How did Miss Daisy Miller know that there was a + charmer in Geneva? Winterbourne, who denied the existence of such a + person, was quite unable to discover, and he was divided between amazement + at the rapidity of her induction and amusement at the frankness of her + persiflage. She seemed to him, in all this, an extraordinary mixture of + innocence and crudity. “Does she never allow you more than three days at a + time?” asked Daisy ironically. “Doesn’t she give you a vacation in summer? + There’s no one so hard worked but they can get leave to go off somewhere + at this season. I suppose, if you stay another day, she’ll come after you + in the boat. Do wait over till Friday, and I will go down to the landing + to see her arrive!” Winterbourne began to think he had been wrong to feel + disappointed in the temper in which the young lady had embarked. If he had + missed the personal accent, the personal accent was now making its + appearance. It sounded very distinctly, at last, in her telling him she + would stop “teasing” him if he would promise her solemnly to come down to + Rome in the winter. + </p> + <p> + “That’s not a difficult promise to make,” said Winterbourne. “My aunt has + taken an apartment in Rome for the winter and has already asked me to come + and see her.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t want you to come for your aunt,” said Daisy; “I want you to come + for me.” And this was the only allusion that the young man was ever to + hear her make to his invidious kinswoman. He declared that, at any rate, + he would certainly come. After this Daisy stopped teasing. Winterbourne + took a carriage, and they drove back to Vevey in the dusk; the young girl + was very quiet. + </p> + <p> + In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent + the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. + </p> + <p> + “The Americans—of the courier?” asked this lady. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, happily,” said Winterbourne, “the courier stayed at home.” + </p> + <p> + “She went with you all alone?” + </p> + <p> + “All alone.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. “And that,” she + exclaimed, “is the young person whom you wanted me to know!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_PART" id="link2H_PART"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PART II + </h2> + <p> + Winterbourne, who had returned to Geneva the day after his excursion to + Chillon, went to Rome toward the end of January. His aunt had been + established there for several weeks, and he had received a couple of + letters from her. “Those people you were so devoted to last summer at + Vevey have turned up here, courier and all,” she wrote. “They seem to have + made several acquaintances, but the courier continues to be the most + intime. The young lady, however, is also very intimate with some + third-rate Italians, with whom she rackets about in a way that makes much + talk. Bring me that pretty novel of Cherbuliez’s—Paule Mere—and + don’t come later than the 23rd.” + </p> + <p> + In the natural course of events, Winterbourne, on arriving in Rome, would + presently have ascertained Mrs. Miller’s address at the American banker’s + and have gone to pay his compliments to Miss Daisy. “After what happened + at Vevey, I think I may certainly call upon them,” he said to Mrs. + Costello. + </p> + <p> + “If, after what happens—at Vevey and everywhere—you desire to + keep up the acquaintance, you are very welcome. Of course a man may know + everyone. Men are welcome to the privilege!” + </p> + <p> + “Pray what is it that happens—here, for instance?” Winterbourne + demanded. + </p> + <p> + “The girl goes about alone with her foreigners. As to what happens + further, you must apply elsewhere for information. She has picked up half + a dozen of the regular Roman fortune hunters, and she takes them about to + people’s houses. When she comes to a party she brings with her a gentleman + with a good deal of manner and a wonderful mustache.” + </p> + <p> + “And where is the mother?” + </p> + <p> + “I haven’t the least idea. They are very dreadful people.” + </p> + <p> + Winterbourne meditated a moment. “They are very ignorant—very + innocent only. Depend upon it they are not bad.” + </p> + <p> + “They are hopelessly vulgar,” said Mrs. Costello. “Whether or no being + hopelessly vulgar is being ‘bad’ is a question for the metaphysicians. + They are bad enough to dislike, at any rate; and for this short life that + is quite enough.” + </p> + <p> + The news that Daisy Miller was surrounded by half a dozen wonderful + mustaches checked Winterbourne’s impulse to go straightway to see her. He + had, perhaps, not definitely flattered himself that he had made an + ineffaceable impression upon her heart, but he was annoyed at hearing of a + state of affairs so little in harmony with an image that had lately + flitted in and out of his own meditations; the image of a very pretty girl + looking out of an old Roman window and asking herself urgently when Mr. + Winterbourne would arrive. If, however, he determined to wait a little + before reminding Miss Miller of his claims to her consideration, he went + very soon to call upon two or three other friends. One of these friends + was an American lady who had spent several winters at Geneva, where she + had placed her children at school. She was a very accomplished woman, and + she lived in the Via Gregoriana. Winterbourne found her in a little + crimson drawing room on a third floor; the room was filled with southern + sunshine. He had not been there ten minutes when the servant came in, + announcing “Madame Mila!” This announcement was presently followed by the + entrance of little Randolph Miller, who stopped in the middle of the room + and stood staring at Winterbourne. An instant later his pretty sister + crossed the threshold; and then, after a considerable interval, Mrs. + Miller slowly advanced. + </p> + <p> + “I know you!” said Randolph. + </p> + <p> + “I’m sure you know a great many things,” exclaimed Winterbourne, taking + him by the hand. “How is your education coming on?” + </p> + <p> + Daisy was exchanging greetings very prettily with her hostess, but when + she heard Winterbourne’s voice she quickly turned her head. “Well, I + declare!” she said. + </p> + <p> + “I told you I should come, you know,” Winterbourne rejoined, smiling. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I didn’t believe it,” said Miss Daisy. + </p> + <p> + “I am much obliged to you,” laughed the young man. + </p> + <p> + “You might have come to see me!” said Daisy. + </p> + <p> + “I arrived only yesterday.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t believe that!” the young girl declared. + </p> + <p> + Winterbourne turned with a protesting smile to her mother, but this lady + evaded his glance, and, seating herself, fixed her eyes upon her son. + “We’ve got a bigger place than this,” said Randolph. “It’s all gold on the + walls.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Miller turned uneasily in her chair. “I told you if I were to bring + you, you would say something!” she murmured. + </p> + <p> + “I told YOU!” Randolph exclaimed. “I tell YOU, sir!” he added jocosely, + giving Winterbourne a thump on the knee. “It IS bigger, too!” + </p> + <p> + Daisy had entered upon a lively conversation with her hostess; + Winterbourne judged it becoming to address a few words to her mother. “I + hope you have been well since we parted at Vevey,” he said. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Miller now certainly looked at him—at his chin. “Not very well, + sir,” she answered. + </p> + <p> + “She’s got the dyspepsia,” said Randolph. “I’ve got it too. Father’s got + it. I’ve got it most!” + </p> + <p> + This announcement, instead of embarrassing Mrs. Miller, seemed to relieve + her. “I suffer from the liver,” she said. “I think it’s this climate; it’s + less bracing than Schenectady, especially in the winter season. I don’t + know whether you know we reside at Schenectady. I was saying to Daisy that + I certainly hadn’t found any one like Dr. Davis, and I didn’t believe I + should. Oh, at Schenectady he stands first; they think everything of him. + He has so much to do, and yet there was nothing he wouldn’t do for me. He + said he never saw anything like my dyspepsia, but he was bound to cure it. + I’m sure there was nothing he wouldn’t try. He was just going to try + something new when we came off. Mr. Miller wanted Daisy to see Europe for + herself. But I wrote to Mr. Miller that it seems as if I couldn’t get on + without Dr. Davis. At Schenectady he stands at the very top; and there’s a + great deal of sickness there, too. It affects my sleep.” + </p> + <p> + Winterbourne had a good deal of pathological gossip with Dr. Davis’s + patient, during which Daisy chattered unremittingly to her own companion. + The young man asked Mrs. Miller how she was pleased with Rome. “Well, I + must say I am disappointed,” she answered. “We had heard so much about it; + I suppose we had heard too much. But we couldn’t help that. We had been + led to expect something different.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, wait a little, and you will become very fond of it,” said + Winterbourne. + </p> + <p> + “I hate it worse and worse every day!” cried Randolph. + </p> + <p> + “You are like the infant Hannibal,” said Winterbourne. + </p> + <p> + “No, I ain’t!” Randolph declared at a venture. + </p> + <p> + “You are not much like an infant,” said his mother. “But we have seen + places,” she resumed, “that I should put a long way before Rome.” And in + reply to Winterbourne’s interrogation, “There’s Zurich,” she concluded, “I + think Zurich is lovely; and we hadn’t heard half so much about it.” + </p> + <p> + “The best place we’ve seen is the City of Richmond!” said Randolph. + </p> + <p> + “He means the ship,” his mother explained. “We crossed in that ship. + Randolph had a good time on the City of Richmond.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s the best place I’ve seen,” the child repeated. “Only it was turned + the wrong way.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, we’ve got to turn the right way some time,” said Mrs. Miller with a + little laugh. Winterbourne expressed the hope that her daughter at least + found some gratification in Rome, and she declared that Daisy was quite + carried away. “It’s on account of the society—the society’s + splendid. She goes round everywhere; she has made a great number of + acquaintances. Of course she goes round more than I do. I must say they + have been very sociable; they have taken her right in. And then she knows + a great many gentlemen. Oh, she thinks there’s nothing like Rome. Of + course, it’s a great deal pleasanter for a young lady if she knows plenty + of gentlemen.” + </p> + <p> + By this time Daisy had turned her attention again to Winterbourne. “I’ve + been telling Mrs. Walker how mean you were!” the young girl announced. + </p> + <p> + “And what is the evidence you have offered?” asked Winterbourne, rather + annoyed at Miss Miller’s want of appreciation of the zeal of an admirer + who on his way down to Rome had stopped neither at Bologna nor at + Florence, simply because of a certain sentimental impatience. He + remembered that a cynical compatriot had once told him that American women—the + pretty ones, and this gave a largeness to the axiom—were at once the + most exacting in the world and the least endowed with a sense of + indebtedness. + </p> + <p> + “Why, you were awfully mean at Vevey,” said Daisy. “You wouldn’t do + anything. You wouldn’t stay there when I asked you.” + </p> + <p> + “My dearest young lady,” cried Winterbourne, with eloquence, “have I come + all the way to Rome to encounter your reproaches?” + </p> + <p> + “Just hear him say that!” said Daisy to her hostess, giving a twist to a + bow on this lady’s dress. “Did you ever hear anything so quaint?” + </p> + <p> + “So quaint, my dear?” murmured Mrs. Walker in the tone of a partisan of + Winterbourne. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I don’t know,” said Daisy, fingering Mrs. Walker’s ribbons. “Mrs. + Walker, I want to tell you something.” + </p> + <p> + “Mother-r,” interposed Randolph, with his rough ends to his words, “I tell + you you’ve got to go. Eugenio’ll raise—something!” + </p> + <p> + “I’m not afraid of Eugenio,” said Daisy with a toss of her head. “Look + here, Mrs. Walker,” she went on, “you know I’m coming to your party.” + </p> + <p> + “I am delighted to hear it.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ve got a lovely dress!” + </p> + <p> + “I am very sure of that.” + </p> + <p> + “But I want to ask a favor—permission to bring a friend.” + </p> + <p> + “I shall be happy to see any of your friends,” said Mrs. Walker, turning + with a smile to Mrs. Miller. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, they are not my friends,” answered Daisy’s mamma, smiling shyly in + her own fashion. “I never spoke to them.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s an intimate friend of mine—Mr. Giovanelli,” said Daisy without + a tremor in her clear little voice or a shadow on her brilliant little + face. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Walker was silent a moment; she gave a rapid glance at Winterbourne. + “I shall be glad to see Mr. Giovanelli,” she then said. + </p> + <p> + “He’s an Italian,” Daisy pursued with the prettiest serenity. “He’s a + great friend of mine; he’s the handsomest man in the world—except + Mr. Winterbourne! He knows plenty of Italians, but he wants to know some + Americans. He thinks ever so much of Americans. He’s tremendously clever. + He’s perfectly lovely!” + </p> + <p> + It was settled that this brilliant personage should be brought to Mrs. + Walker’s party, and then Mrs. Miller prepared to take her leave. “I guess + we’ll go back to the hotel,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “You may go back to the hotel, Mother, but I’m going to take a walk,” said + Daisy. + </p> + <p> + “She’s going to walk with Mr. Giovanelli,” Randolph proclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “I am going to the Pincio,” said Daisy, smiling. + </p> + <p> + “Alone, my dear—at this hour?” Mrs. Walker asked. The afternoon was + drawing to a close—it was the hour for the throng of carriages and + of contemplative pedestrians. “I don’t think it’s safe, my dear,” said + Mrs. Walker. + </p> + <p> + “Neither do I,” subjoined Mrs. Miller. “You’ll get the fever, as sure as + you live. Remember what Dr. Davis told you!” + </p> + <p> + “Give her some medicine before she goes,” said Randolph. + </p> + <p> + The company had risen to its feet; Daisy, still showing her pretty teeth, + bent over and kissed her hostess. “Mrs. Walker, you are too perfect,” she + said. “I’m not going alone; I am going to meet a friend.” + </p> + <p> + “Your friend won’t keep you from getting the fever,” Mrs. Miller observed. + </p> + <p> + “Is it Mr. Giovanelli?” asked the hostess. + </p> + <p> + Winterbourne was watching the young girl; at this question his attention + quickened. She stood there, smiling and smoothing her bonnet ribbons; she + glanced at Winterbourne. Then, while she glanced and smiled, she answered, + without a shade of hesitation, “Mr. Giovanelli—the beautiful + Giovanelli.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear young friend,” said Mrs. Walker, taking her hand pleadingly, + “don’t walk off to the Pincio at this hour to meet a beautiful Italian.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, he speaks English,” said Mrs. Miller. + </p> + <p> + “Gracious me!” Daisy exclaimed, “I don’t to do anything improper. There’s + an easy way to settle it.” She continued to glance at Winterbourne. “The + Pincio is only a hundred yards distant; and if Mr. Winterbourne were as + polite as he pretends, he would offer to walk with me!” + </p> + <p> + Winterbourne’s politeness hastened to affirm itself, and the young girl + gave him gracious leave to accompany her. They passed downstairs before + her mother, and at the door Winterbourne perceived Mrs. Miller’s carriage + drawn up, with the ornamental courier whose acquaintance he had made at + Vevey seated within. “Goodbye, Eugenio!” cried Daisy; “I’m going to take a + walk.” The distance from the Via Gregoriana to the beautiful garden at the + other end of the Pincian Hill is, in fact, rapidly traversed. As the day + was splendid, however, and the concourse of vehicles, walkers, and + loungers numerous, the young Americans found their progress much delayed. + This fact was highly agreeable to Winterbourne, in spite of his + consciousness of his singular situation. The slow-moving, idly gazing + Roman crowd bestowed much attention upon the extremely pretty young + foreign lady who was passing through it upon his arm; and he wondered what + on earth had been in Daisy’s mind when she proposed to expose herself, + unattended, to its appreciation. His own mission, to her sense, + apparently, was to consign her to the hands of Mr. Giovanelli; but + Winterbourne, at once annoyed and gratified, resolved that he would do no + such thing. + </p> + <p> + “Why haven’t you been to see me?” asked Daisy. “You can’t get out of + that.” + </p> + <p> + “I have had the honor of telling you that I have only just stepped out of + the train.” + </p> + <p> + “You must have stayed in the train a good while after it stopped!” cried + the young girl with her little laugh. “I suppose you were asleep. You have + had time to go to see Mrs. Walker.” + </p> + <p> + “I knew Mrs. Walker—” Winterbourne began to explain. + </p> + <p> + “I know where you knew her. You knew her at Geneva. She told me so. Well, + you knew me at Vevey. That’s just as good. So you ought to have come.” She + asked him no other question than this; she began to prattle about her own + affairs. “We’ve got splendid rooms at the hotel; Eugenio says they’re the + best rooms in Rome. We are going to stay all winter, if we don’t die of + the fever; and I guess we’ll stay then. It’s a great deal nicer than I + thought; I thought it would be fearfully quiet; I was sure it would be + awfully poky. I was sure we should be going round all the time with one of + those dreadful old men that explain about the pictures and things. But we + only had about a week of that, and now I’m enjoying myself. I know ever so + many people, and they are all so charming. The society’s extremely select. + There are all kinds—English, and Germans, and Italians. I think I + like the English best. I like their style of conversation. But there are + some lovely Americans. I never saw anything so hospitable. There’s + something or other every day. There’s not much dancing; but I must say I + never thought dancing was everything. I was always fond of conversation. I + guess I shall have plenty at Mrs. Walker’s, her rooms are so small.” When + they had passed the gate of the Pincian Gardens, Miss Miller began to + wonder where Mr. Giovanelli might be. “We had better go straight to that + place in front,” she said, “where you look at the view.” + </p> + <p> + “I certainly shall not help you to find him,” Winterbourne declared. + </p> + <p> + “Then I shall find him without you,” cried Miss Daisy. + </p> + <p> + “You certainly won’t leave me!” cried Winterbourne. + </p> + <p> + She burst into her little laugh. “Are you afraid you’ll get lost—or + run over? But there’s Giovanelli, leaning against that tree. He’s staring + at the women in the carriages: did you ever see anything so cool?” + </p> + <p> + Winterbourne perceived at some distance a little man standing with folded + arms nursing his cane. He had a handsome face, an artfully poised hat, a + glass in one eye, and a nosegay in his buttonhole. Winterbourne looked at + him a moment and then said, “Do you mean to speak to that man?” + </p> + <p> + “Do I mean to speak to him? Why, you don’t suppose I mean to communicate + by signs?” + </p> + <p> + “Pray understand, then,” said Winterbourne, “that I intend to remain with + you.” + </p> + <p> + Daisy stopped and looked at him, without a sign of troubled consciousness + in her face, with nothing but the presence of her charming eyes and her + happy dimples. “Well, she’s a cool one!” thought the young man. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t like the way you say that,” said Daisy. “It’s too imperious.” + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon if I say it wrong. The main point is to give you an + idea of my meaning.” + </p> + <p> + The young girl looked at him more gravely, but with eyes that were + prettier than ever. “I have never allowed a gentleman to dictate to me, or + to interfere with anything I do.” + </p> + <p> + “I think you have made a mistake,” said Winterbourne. “You should + sometimes listen to a gentleman—the right one.” + </p> + <p> + Daisy began to laugh again. “I do nothing but listen to gentlemen!” she + exclaimed. “Tell me if Mr. Giovanelli is the right one?” + </p> + <p> + The gentleman with the nosegay in his bosom had now perceived our two + friends, and was approaching the young girl with obsequious rapidity. He + bowed to Winterbourne as well as to the latter’s companion; he had a + brilliant smile, an intelligent eye; Winterbourne thought him not a + bad-looking fellow. But he nevertheless said to Daisy, “No, he’s not the + right one.” + </p> + <p> + Daisy evidently had a natural talent for performing introductions; she + mentioned the name of each of her companions to the other. She strolled + alone with one of them on each side of her; Mr. Giovanelli, who spoke + English very cleverly—Winterbourne afterward learned that he had + practiced the idiom upon a great many American heiresses—addressed + her a great deal of very polite nonsense; he was extremely urbane, and the + young American, who said nothing, reflected upon that profundity of + Italian cleverness which enables people to appear more gracious in + proportion as they are more acutely disappointed. Giovanelli, of course, + had counted upon something more intimate; he had not bargained for a party + of three. But he kept his temper in a manner which suggested + far-stretching intentions. Winterbourne flattered himself that he had + taken his measure. “He is not a gentleman,” said the young American; “he + is only a clever imitation of one. He is a music master, or a + penny-a-liner, or a third-rate artist. D__n his good looks!” Mr. + Giovanelli had certainly a very pretty face; but Winterbourne felt a + superior indignation at his own lovely fellow countrywoman’s not knowing + the difference between a spurious gentleman and a real one. Giovanelli + chattered and jested and made himself wonderfully agreeable. It was true + that, if he was an imitation, the imitation was brilliant. “Nevertheless,” + Winterbourne said to himself, “a nice girl ought to know!” And then he + came back to the question whether this was, in fact, a nice girl. Would a + nice girl, even allowing for her being a little American flirt, make a + rendezvous with a presumably low-lived foreigner? The rendezvous in this + case, indeed, had been in broad daylight and in the most crowded corner of + Rome, but was it not impossible to regard the choice of these + circumstances as a proof of extreme cynicism? Singular though it may seem, + Winterbourne was vexed that the young girl, in joining her amoroso, should + not appear more impatient of his own company, and he was vexed because of + his inclination. It was impossible to regard her as a perfectly + well-conducted young lady; she was wanting in a certain indispensable + delicacy. It would therefore simplify matters greatly to be able to treat + her as the object of one of those sentiments which are called by romancers + “lawless passions.” That she should seem to wish to get rid of him would + help him to think more lightly of her, and to be able to think more + lightly of her would make her much less perplexing. But Daisy, on this + occasion, continued to present herself as an inscrutable combination of + audacity and innocence. + </p> + <p> + She had been walking some quarter of an hour, attended by her two + cavaliers, and responding in a tone of very childish gaiety, as it seemed + to Winterbourne, to the pretty speeches of Mr. Giovanelli, when a carriage + that had detached itself from the revolving train drew up beside the path. + At the same moment Winterbourne perceived that his friend Mrs. Walker—the + lady whose house he had lately left—was seated in the vehicle and + was beckoning to him. Leaving Miss Miller’s side, he hastened to obey her + summons. Mrs. Walker was flushed; she wore an excited air. “It is really + too dreadful,” she said. “That girl must not do this sort of thing. She + must not walk here with you two men. Fifty people have noticed her.” + </p> + <p> + Winterbourne raised his eyebrows. “I think it’s a pity to make too much + fuss about it.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s a pity to let the girl ruin herself!” + </p> + <p> + “She is very innocent,” said Winterbourne. + </p> + <p> + “She’s very crazy!” cried Mrs. Walker. “Did you ever see anything so + imbecile as her mother? After you had all left me just now, I could not + sit still for thinking of it. It seemed too pitiful, not even to attempt + to save her. I ordered the carriage and put on my bonnet, and came here as + quickly as possible. Thank Heaven I have found you!” + </p> + <p> + “What do you propose to do with us?” asked Winterbourne, smiling. + </p> + <p> + “To ask her to get in, to drive her about here for half an hour, so that + the world may see she is not running absolutely wild, and then to take her + safely home.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t think it’s a very happy thought,” said Winterbourne; “but you can + try.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Walker tried. The young man went in pursuit of Miss Miller, who had + simply nodded and smiled at his interlocutor in the carriage and had gone + her way with her companion. Daisy, on learning that Mrs. Walker wished to + speak to her, retraced her steps with a perfect good grace and with Mr. + Giovanelli at her side. She declared that she was delighted to have a + chance to present this gentleman to Mrs. Walker. She immediately achieved + the introduction, and declared that she had never in her life seen + anything so lovely as Mrs. Walker’s carriage rug. + </p> + <p> + “I am glad you admire it,” said this lady, smiling sweetly. “Will you get + in and let me put it over you?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no, thank you,” said Daisy. “I shall admire it much more as I see you + driving round with it.” + </p> + <p> + “Do get in and drive with me!” said Mrs. Walker. + </p> + <p> + “That would be charming, but it’s so enchanting just as I am!” and Daisy + gave a brilliant glance at the gentlemen on either side of her. + </p> + <p> + “It may be enchanting, dear child, but it is not the custom here,” urged + Mrs. Walker, leaning forward in her victoria, with her hands devoutly + clasped. + </p> + <p> + “Well, it ought to be, then!” said Daisy. “If I didn’t walk I should + expire.” + </p> + <p> + “You should walk with your mother, dear,” cried the lady from Geneva, + losing patience. + </p> + <p> + “With my mother dear!” exclaimed the young girl. Winterbourne saw that she + scented interference. “My mother never walked ten steps in her life. And + then, you know,” she added with a laugh, “I am more than five years old.” + </p> + <p> + “You are old enough to be more reasonable. You are old enough, dear Miss + Miller, to be talked about.” + </p> + <p> + Daisy looked at Mrs. Walker, smiling intensely. “Talked about? What do you + mean?” + </p> + <p> + “Come into my carriage, and I will tell you.” + </p> + <p> + Daisy turned her quickened glance again from one of the gentlemen beside + her to the other. Mr. Giovanelli was bowing to and fro, rubbing down his + gloves and laughing very agreeably; Winterbourne thought it a most + unpleasant scene. “I don’t think I want to know what you mean,” said Daisy + presently. “I don’t think I should like it.” + </p> + <p> + Winterbourne wished that Mrs. Walker would tuck in her carriage rug and + drive away, but this lady did not enjoy being defied, as she afterward + told him. “Should you prefer being thought a very reckless girl?” she + demanded. + </p> + <p> + “Gracious!” exclaimed Daisy. She looked again at Mr. Giovanelli, then she + turned to Winterbourne. There was a little pink flush in her cheek; she + was tremendously pretty. “Does Mr. Winterbourne think,” she asked slowly, + smiling, throwing back her head, and glancing at him from head to foot, + “that, to save my reputation, I ought to get into the carriage?” + </p> + <p> + Winterbourne colored; for an instant he hesitated greatly. It seemed so + strange to hear her speak that way of her “reputation.” But he himself, in + fact, must speak in accordance with gallantry. The finest gallantry, here, + was simply to tell her the truth; and the truth, for Winterbourne, as the + few indications I have been able to give have made him known to the + reader, was that Daisy Miller should take Mrs. Walker’s advice. He looked + at her exquisite prettiness, and then he said, very gently, “I think you + should get into the carriage.” + </p> + <p> + Daisy gave a violent laugh. “I never heard anything so stiff! If this is + improper, Mrs. Walker,” she pursued, “then I am all improper, and you must + give me up. Goodbye; I hope you’ll have a lovely ride!” and, with Mr. + Giovanelli, who made a triumphantly obsequious salute, she turned away. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Walker sat looking after her, and there were tears in Mrs. Walker’s + eyes. “Get in here, sir,” she said to Winterbourne, indicating the place + beside her. The young man answered that he felt bound to accompany Miss + Miller, whereupon Mrs. Walker declared that if he refused her this favor + she would never speak to him again. She was evidently in earnest. + Winterbourne overtook Daisy and her companion, and, offering the young + girl his hand, told her that Mrs. Walker had made an imperious claim upon + his society. He expected that in answer she would say something rather + free, something to commit herself still further to that “recklessness” + from which Mrs. Walker had so charitably endeavored to dissuade her. But + she only shook his hand, hardly looking at him, while Mr. Giovanelli bade + him farewell with a too emphatic flourish of the hat. + </p> + <p> + Winterbourne was not in the best possible humor as he took his seat in + Mrs. Walker’s victoria. “That was not clever of you,” he said candidly, + while the vehicle mingled again with the throng of carriages. + </p> + <p> + “In such a case,” his companion answered, “I don’t wish to be clever; I + wish to be EARNEST!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, your earnestness has only offended her and put her off.” + </p> + <p> + “It has happened very well,” said Mrs. Walker. “If she is so perfectly + determined to compromise herself, the sooner one knows it the better; one + can act accordingly.” + </p> + <p> + “I suspect she meant no harm,” Winterbourne rejoined. + </p> + <p> + “So I thought a month ago. But she has been going too far.” + </p> + <p> + “What has she been doing?” + </p> + <p> + “Everything that is not done here. Flirting with any man she could pick + up; sitting in corners with mysterious Italians; dancing all the evening + with the same partners; receiving visits at eleven o’clock at night. Her + mother goes away when visitors come.” + </p> + <p> + “But her brother,” said Winterbourne, laughing, “sits up till midnight.” + </p> + <p> + “He must be edified by what he sees. I’m told that at their hotel everyone + is talking about her, and that a smile goes round among all the servants + when a gentleman comes and asks for Miss Miller.” + </p> + <p> + “The servants be hanged!” said Winterbourne angrily. “The poor girl’s only + fault,” he presently added, “is that she is very uncultivated.” + </p> + <p> + “She is naturally indelicate,” Mrs. Walker declared. + </p> + <p> + “Take that example this morning. How long had you known her at Vevey?” + </p> + <p> + “A couple of days.” + </p> + <p> + “Fancy, then, her making it a personal matter that you should have left + the place!” + </p> + <p> + Winterbourne was silent for some moments; then he said, “I suspect, Mrs. + Walker, that you and I have lived too long at Geneva!” And he added a + request that she should inform him with what particular design she had + made him enter her carriage. + </p> + <p> + “I wished to beg you to cease your relations with Miss Miller—not to + flirt with her—to give her no further opportunity to expose herself—to + let her alone, in short.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m afraid I can’t do that,” said Winterbourne. “I like her extremely.” + </p> + <p> + “All the more reason that you shouldn’t help her to make a scandal.” + </p> + <p> + “There shall be nothing scandalous in my attentions to her.” + </p> + <p> + “There certainly will be in the way she takes them. But I have said what I + had on my conscience,” Mrs. Walker pursued. “If you wish to rejoin the + young lady I will put you down. Here, by the way, you have a chance.” + </p> + <p> + The carriage was traversing that part of the Pincian Garden that overhangs + the wall of Rome and overlooks the beautiful Villa Borghese. It is + bordered by a large parapet, near which there are several seats. One of + the seats at a distance was occupied by a gentleman and a lady, toward + whom Mrs. Walker gave a toss of her head. At the same moment these persons + rose and walked toward the parapet. Winterbourne had asked the coachman to + stop; he now descended from the carriage. His companion looked at him a + moment in silence; then, while he raised his hat, she drove majestically + away. Winterbourne stood there; he had turned his eyes toward Daisy and + her cavalier. They evidently saw no one; they were too deeply occupied + with each other. When they reached the low garden wall, they stood a + moment looking off at the great flat-topped pine clusters of the Villa + Borghese; then Giovanelli seated himself, familiarly, upon the broad ledge + of the wall. The western sun in the opposite sky sent out a brilliant + shaft through a couple of cloud bars, whereupon Daisy’s companion took her + parasol out of her hands and opened it. She came a little nearer, and he + held the parasol over her; then, still holding it, he let it rest upon her + shoulder, so that both of their heads were hidden from Winterbourne. This + young man lingered a moment, then he began to walk. But he walked—not + toward the couple with the parasol; toward the residence of his aunt, Mrs. + Costello. + </p> + <p> + He flattered himself on the following day that there was no smiling among + the servants when he, at least, asked for Mrs. Miller at her hotel. This + lady and her daughter, however, were not at home; and on the next day + after, repeating his visit, Winterbourne again had the misfortune not to + find them. Mrs. Walker’s party took place on the evening of the third day, + and, in spite of the frigidity of his last interview with the hostess, + Winterbourne was among the guests. Mrs. Walker was one of those American + ladies who, while residing abroad, make a point, in their own phrase, of + studying European society, and she had on this occasion collected several + specimens of her diversely born fellow mortals to serve, as it were, as + textbooks. When Winterbourne arrived, Daisy Miller was not there, but in a + few moments he saw her mother come in alone, very shyly and ruefully. Mrs. + Miller’s hair above her exposed-looking temples was more frizzled than + ever. As she approached Mrs. Walker, Winterbourne also drew near. + </p> + <p> + “You see, I’ve come all alone,” said poor Mrs. Miller. “I’m so frightened; + I don’t know what to do. It’s the first time I’ve ever been to a party + alone, especially in this country. I wanted to bring Randolph or Eugenio, + or someone, but Daisy just pushed me off by myself. I ain’t used to going + round alone.” + </p> + <p> + “And does not your daughter intend to favor us with her society?” demanded + Mrs. Walker impressively. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Daisy’s all dressed,” said Mrs. Miller with that accent of the + dispassionate, if not of the philosophic, historian with which she always + recorded the current incidents of her daughter’s career. “She got dressed + on purpose before dinner. But she’s got a friend of hers there; that + gentleman—the Italian—that she wanted to bring. They’ve got + going at the piano; it seems as if they couldn’t leave off. Mr. Giovanelli + sings splendidly. But I guess they’ll come before very long,” concluded + Mrs. Miller hopefully. + </p> + <p> + “I’m sorry she should come in that way,” said Mrs. Walker. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I told her that there was no use in her getting dressed before + dinner if she was going to wait three hours,” responded Daisy’s mamma. “I + didn’t see the use of her putting on such a dress as that to sit round + with Mr. Giovanelli.” + </p> + <p> + “This is most horrible!” said Mrs. Walker, turning away and addressing + herself to Winterbourne. “Elle s’affiche. It’s her revenge for my having + ventured to remonstrate with her. When she comes, I shall not speak to + her.” + </p> + <p> + Daisy came after eleven o’clock; but she was not, on such an occasion, a + young lady to wait to be spoken to. She rustled forward in radiant + loveliness, smiling and chattering, carrying a large bouquet, and attended + by Mr. Giovanelli. Everyone stopped talking and turned and looked at her. + She came straight to Mrs. Walker. “I’m afraid you thought I never was + coming, so I sent mother off to tell you. I wanted to make Mr. Giovanelli + practice some things before he came; you know he sings beautifully, and I + want you to ask him to sing. This is Mr. Giovanelli; you know I introduced + him to you; he’s got the most lovely voice, and he knows the most charming + set of songs. I made him go over them this evening on purpose; we had the + greatest time at the hotel.” Of all this Daisy delivered herself with the + sweetest, brightest audibleness, looking now at her hostess and now round + the room, while she gave a series of little pats, round her shoulders, to + the edges of her dress. “Is there anyone I know?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “I think every one knows you!” said Mrs. Walker pregnantly, and she gave a + very cursory greeting to Mr. Giovanelli. This gentleman bore himself + gallantly. He smiled and bowed and showed his white teeth; he curled his + mustaches and rolled his eyes and performed all the proper functions of a + handsome Italian at an evening party. He sang very prettily half a dozen + songs, though Mrs. Walker afterward declared that she had been quite + unable to find out who asked him. It was apparently not Daisy who had + given him his orders. Daisy sat at a distance from the piano, and though + she had publicly, as it were, professed a high admiration for his singing, + talked, not inaudibly, while it was going on. + </p> + <p> + “It’s a pity these rooms are so small; we can’t dance,” she said to + Winterbourne, as if she had seen him five minutes before. + </p> + <p> + “I am not sorry we can’t dance,” Winterbourne answered; “I don’t dance.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course you don’t dance; you’re too stiff,” said Miss Daisy. “I hope + you enjoyed your drive with Mrs. Walker!” + </p> + <p> + “No. I didn’t enjoy it; I preferred walking with you.” + </p> + <p> + “We paired off: that was much better,” said Daisy. “But did you ever hear + anything so cool as Mrs. Walker’s wanting me to get into her carriage and + drop poor Mr. Giovanelli, and under the pretext that it was proper? People + have different ideas! It would have been most unkind; he had been talking + about that walk for ten days.” + </p> + <p> + “He should not have talked about it at all,” said Winterbourne; “he would + never have proposed to a young lady of this country to walk about the + streets with him.” + </p> + <p> + “About the streets?” cried Daisy with her pretty stare. “Where, then, + would he have proposed to her to walk? The Pincio is not the streets, + either; and I, thank goodness, am not a young lady of this country. The + young ladies of this country have a dreadfully poky time of it, so far as + I can learn; I don’t see why I should change my habits for THEM.” + </p> + <p> + “I am afraid your habits are those of a flirt,” said Winterbourne gravely. + </p> + <p> + “Of course they are,” she cried, giving him her little smiling stare + again. “I’m a fearful, frightful flirt! Did you ever hear of a nice girl + that was not? But I suppose you will tell me now that I am not a nice + girl.” + </p> + <p> + “You’re a very nice girl; but I wish you would flirt with me, and me + only,” said Winterbourne. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! thank you—thank you very much; you are the last man I should + think of flirting with. As I have had the pleasure of informing you, you + are too stiff.” + </p> + <p> + “You say that too often,” said Winterbourne. + </p> + <p> + Daisy gave a delighted laugh. “If I could have the sweet hope of making + you angry, I should say it again.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t do that; when I am angry I’m stiffer than ever. But if you won’t + flirt with me, do cease, at least, to flirt with your friend at the piano; + they don’t understand that sort of thing here.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought they understood nothing else!” exclaimed Daisy. + </p> + <p> + “Not in young unmarried women.” + </p> + <p> + “It seems to me much more proper in young unmarried women than in old + married ones,” Daisy declared. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Winterbourne, “when you deal with natives you must go by the + custom of the place. Flirting is a purely American custom; it doesn’t + exist here. So when you show yourself in public with Mr. Giovanelli, and + without your mother—” + </p> + <p> + “Gracious! poor Mother!” interposed Daisy. + </p> + <p> + “Though you may be flirting, Mr. Giovanelli is not; he means something + else.” + </p> + <p> + “He isn’t preaching, at any rate,” said Daisy with vivacity. “And if you + want very much to know, we are neither of us flirting; we are too good + friends for that: we are very intimate friends.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” rejoined Winterbourne, “if you are in love with each other, it is + another affair.” + </p> + <p> + She had allowed him up to this point to talk so frankly that he had no + expectation of shocking her by this ejaculation; but she immediately got + up, blushing visibly, and leaving him to exclaim mentally that little + American flirts were the queerest creatures in the world. “Mr. Giovanelli, + at least,” she said, giving her interlocutor a single glance, “never says + such very disagreeable things to me.” + </p> + <p> + Winterbourne was bewildered; he stood, staring. Mr. Giovanelli had + finished singing. He left the piano and came over to Daisy. “Won’t you + come into the other room and have some tea?” he asked, bending before her + with his ornamental smile. + </p> + <p> + Daisy turned to Winterbourne, beginning to smile again. He was still more + perplexed, for this inconsequent smile made nothing clear, though it + seemed to prove, indeed, that she had a sweetness and softness that + reverted instinctively to the pardon of offenses. “It has never occurred + to Mr. Winterbourne to offer me any tea,” she said with her little + tormenting manner. + </p> + <p> + “I have offered you advice,” Winterbourne rejoined. + </p> + <p> + “I prefer weak tea!” cried Daisy, and she went off with the brilliant + Giovanelli. She sat with him in the adjoining room, in the embrasure of + the window, for the rest of the evening. There was an interesting + performance at the piano, but neither of these young people gave heed to + it. When Daisy came to take leave of Mrs. Walker, this lady + conscientiously repaired the weakness of which she had been guilty at the + moment of the young girl’s arrival. She turned her back straight upon Miss + Miller and left her to depart with what grace she might. Winterbourne was + standing near the door; he saw it all. Daisy turned very pale and looked + at her mother, but Mrs. Miller was humbly unconscious of any violation of + the usual social forms. She appeared, indeed, to have felt an incongruous + impulse to draw attention to her own striking observance of them. “Good + night, Mrs. Walker,” she said; “we’ve had a beautiful evening. You see, if + I let Daisy come to parties without me, I don’t want her to go away + without me.” Daisy turned away, looking with a pale, grave face at the + circle near the door; Winterbourne saw that, for the first moment, she was + too much shocked and puzzled even for indignation. He on his side was + greatly touched. + </p> + <p> + “That was very cruel,” he said to Mrs. Walker. + </p> + <p> + “She never enters my drawing room again!” replied his hostess. + </p> + <p> + Since Winterbourne was not to meet her in Mrs. Walker’s drawing room, he + went as often as possible to Mrs. Miller’s hotel. The ladies were rarely + at home, but when he found them, the devoted Giovanelli was always + present. Very often the brilliant little Roman was in the drawing room + with Daisy alone, Mrs. Miller being apparently constantly of the opinion + that discretion is the better part of surveillance. Winterbourne noted, at + first with surprise, that Daisy on these occasions was never embarrassed + or annoyed by his own entrance; but he very presently began to feel that + she had no more surprises for him; the unexpected in her behavior was the + only thing to expect. She showed no displeasure at her tete-a-tete with + Giovanelli being interrupted; she could chatter as freshly and freely with + two gentlemen as with one; there was always, in her conversation, the same + odd mixture of audacity and puerility. Winterbourne remarked to himself + that if she was seriously interested in Giovanelli, it was very singular + that she should not take more trouble to preserve the sanctity of their + interviews; and he liked her the more for her innocent-looking + indifference and her apparently inexhaustible good humor. He could hardly + have said why, but she seemed to him a girl who would never be jealous. At + the risk of exciting a somewhat derisive smile on the reader’s part, I may + affirm that with regard to the women who had hitherto interested him, it + very often seemed to Winterbourne among the possibilities that, given + certain contingencies, he should be afraid—literally afraid—of + these ladies; he had a pleasant sense that he should never be afraid of + Daisy Miller. It must be added that this sentiment was not altogether + flattering to Daisy; it was part of his conviction, or rather of his + apprehension, that she would prove a very light young person. + </p> + <p> + But she was evidently very much interested in Giovanelli. She looked at + him whenever he spoke; she was perpetually telling him to do this and to + do that; she was constantly “chaffing” and abusing him. She appeared + completely to have forgotten that Winterbourne had said anything to + displease her at Mrs. Walker’s little party. One Sunday afternoon, having + gone to St. Peter’s with his aunt, Winterbourne perceived Daisy strolling + about the great church in company with the inevitable Giovanelli. + Presently he pointed out the young girl and her cavalier to Mrs. Costello. + This lady looked at them a moment through her eyeglass, and then she said: + </p> + <p> + “That’s what makes you so pensive in these days, eh?” + </p> + <p> + “I had not the least idea I was pensive,” said the young man. + </p> + <p> + “You are very much preoccupied; you are thinking of something.” + </p> + <p> + “And what is it,” he asked, “that you accuse me of thinking of?” + </p> + <p> + “Of that young lady’s—Miss Baker’s, Miss Chandler’s—what’s her + name?—Miss Miller’s intrigue with that little barber’s block.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you call it an intrigue,” Winterbourne asked—“an affair that + goes on with such peculiar publicity?” + </p> + <p> + “That’s their folly,” said Mrs. Costello; “it’s not their merit.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” rejoined Winterbourne, with something of that pensiveness to which + his aunt had alluded. “I don’t believe that there is anything to be called + an intrigue.” + </p> + <p> + “I have heard a dozen people speak of it; they say she is quite carried + away by him.” + </p> + <p> + “They are certainly very intimate,” said Winterbourne. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Costello inspected the young couple again with her optical + instrument. “He is very handsome. One easily sees how it is. She thinks + him the most elegant man in the world, the finest gentleman. She has never + seen anything like him; he is better, even, than the courier. It was the + courier probably who introduced him; and if he succeeds in marrying the + young lady, the courier will come in for a magnificent commission.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t believe she thinks of marrying him,” said Winterbourne, “and I + don’t believe he hopes to marry her.” + </p> + <p> + “You may be very sure she thinks of nothing. She goes on from day to day, + from hour to hour, as they did in the Golden Age. I can imagine nothing + more vulgar. And at the same time,” added Mrs. Costello, “depend upon it + that she may tell you any moment that she is ‘engaged.’” + </p> + <p> + “I think that is more than Giovanelli expects,” said Winterbourne. + </p> + <p> + “Who is Giovanelli?” + </p> + <p> + “The little Italian. I have asked questions about him and learned + something. He is apparently a perfectly respectable little man. I believe + he is, in a small way, a cavaliere avvocato. But he doesn’t move in what + are called the first circles. I think it is really not absolutely + impossible that the courier introduced him. He is evidently immensely + charmed with Miss Miller. If she thinks him the finest gentleman in the + world, he, on his side, has never found himself in personal contact with + such splendor, such opulence, such expensiveness as this young lady’s. And + then she must seem to him wonderfully pretty and interesting. I rather + doubt that he dreams of marrying her. That must appear to him too + impossible a piece of luck. He has nothing but his handsome face to offer, + and there is a substantial Mr. Miller in that mysterious land of dollars. + Giovanelli knows that he hasn’t a title to offer. If he were only a count + or a marchese! He must wonder at his luck, at the way they have taken him + up.” + </p> + <p> + “He accounts for it by his handsome face and thinks Miss Miller a young + lady qui se passe ses fantaisies!” said Mrs. Costello. + </p> + <p> + “It is very true,” Winterbourne pursued, “that Daisy and her mamma have + not yet risen to that stage of—what shall I call it?—of + culture at which the idea of catching a count or a marchese begins. I + believe that they are intellectually incapable of that conception.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! but the avvocato can’t believe it,” said Mrs. Costello. + </p> + <p> + Of the observation excited by Daisy’s “intrigue,” Winterbourne gathered + that day at St. Peter’s sufficient evidence. A dozen of the American + colonists in Rome came to talk with Mrs. Costello, who sat on a little + portable stool at the base of one of the great pilasters. The vesper + service was going forward in splendid chants and organ tones in the + adjacent choir, and meanwhile, between Mrs. Costello and her friends, + there was a great deal said about poor little Miss Miller’s going really + “too far.” Winterbourne was not pleased with what he heard, but when, + coming out upon the great steps of the church, he saw Daisy, who had + emerged before him, get into an open cab with her accomplice and roll away + through the cynical streets of Rome, he could not deny to himself that she + was going very far indeed. He felt very sorry for her—not exactly + that he believed that she had completely lost her head, but because it was + painful to hear so much that was pretty, and undefended, and natural + assigned to a vulgar place among the categories of disorder. He made an + attempt after this to give a hint to Mrs. Miller. He met one day in the + Corso a friend, a tourist like himself, who had just come out of the Doria + Palace, where he had been walking through the beautiful gallery. His + friend talked for a moment about the superb portrait of Innocent X by + Velasquez which hangs in one of the cabinets of the palace, and then said, + “And in the same cabinet, by the way, I had the pleasure of contemplating + a picture of a different kind—that pretty American girl whom you + pointed out to me last week.” In answer to Winterbourne’s inquiries, his + friend narrated that the pretty American girl—prettier than ever—was + seated with a companion in the secluded nook in which the great papal + portrait was enshrined. + </p> + <p> + “Who was her companion?” asked Winterbourne. + </p> + <p> + “A little Italian with a bouquet in his buttonhole. The girl is + delightfully pretty, but I thought I understood from you the other day + that she was a young lady du meilleur monde.” + </p> + <p> + “So she is!” answered Winterbourne; and having assured himself that his + informant had seen Daisy and her companion but five minutes before, he + jumped into a cab and went to call on Mrs. Miller. She was at home; but + she apologized to him for receiving him in Daisy’s absence. + </p> + <p> + “She’s gone out somewhere with Mr. Giovanelli,” said Mrs. Miller. “She’s + always going round with Mr. Giovanelli.” + </p> + <p> + “I have noticed that they are very intimate,” Winterbourne observed. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it seems as if they couldn’t live without each other!” said Mrs. + Miller. “Well, he’s a real gentleman, anyhow. I keep telling Daisy she’s + engaged!” + </p> + <p> + “And what does Daisy say?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, she says she isn’t engaged. But she might as well be!” this impartial + parent resumed; “she goes on as if she was. But I’ve made Mr. Giovanelli + promise to tell me, if SHE doesn’t. I should want to write to Mr. Miller + about it—shouldn’t you?” + </p> + <p> + Winterbourne replied that he certainly should; and the state of mind of + Daisy’s mamma struck him as so unprecedented in the annals of parental + vigilance that he gave up as utterly irrelevant the attempt to place her + upon her guard. + </p> + <p> + After this Daisy was never at home, and Winterbourne ceased to meet her at + the houses of their common acquaintances, because, as he perceived, these + shrewd people had quite made up their minds that she was going too far. + They ceased to invite her; and they intimated that they desired to express + to observant Europeans the great truth that, though Miss Daisy Miller was + a young American lady, her behavior was not representative—was + regarded by her compatriots as abnormal. Winterbourne wondered how she + felt about all the cold shoulders that were turned toward her, and + sometimes it annoyed him to suspect that she did not feel at all. He said + to himself that she was too light and childish, too uncultivated and + unreasoning, too provincial, to have reflected upon her ostracism, or even + to have perceived it. Then at other moments he believed that she carried + about in her elegant and irresponsible little organism a defiant, + passionate, perfectly observant consciousness of the impression she + produced. He asked himself whether Daisy’s defiance came from the + consciousness of innocence, or from her being, essentially, a young person + of the reckless class. It must be admitted that holding one’s self to a + belief in Daisy’s “innocence” came to seem to Winterbourne more and more a + matter of fine-spun gallantry. As I have already had occasion to relate, + he was angry at finding himself reduced to chopping logic about this young + lady; he was vexed at his want of instinctive certitude as to how far her + eccentricities were generic, national, and how far they were personal. + From either view of them he had somehow missed her, and now it was too + late. She was “carried away” by Mr. Giovanelli. + </p> + <p> + A few days after his brief interview with her mother, he encountered her + in that beautiful abode of flowering desolation known as the Palace of the + Caesars. The early Roman spring had filled the air with bloom and perfume, + and the rugged surface of the Palatine was muffled with tender verdure. + Daisy was strolling along the top of one of those great mounds of ruin + that are embanked with mossy marble and paved with monumental + inscriptions. It seemed to him that Rome had never been so lovely as just + then. He stood, looking off at the enchanting harmony of line and color + that remotely encircles the city, inhaling the softly humid odors, and + feeling the freshness of the year and the antiquity of the place reaffirm + themselves in mysterious interfusion. It seemed to him also that Daisy had + never looked so pretty, but this had been an observation of his whenever + he met her. Giovanelli was at her side, and Giovanelli, too, wore an + aspect of even unwonted brilliancy. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Daisy, “I should think you would be lonesome!” + </p> + <p> + “Lonesome?” asked Winterbourne. + </p> + <p> + “You are always going round by yourself. Can’t you get anyone to walk with + you?” + </p> + <p> + “I am not so fortunate,” said Winterbourne, “as your companion.” + </p> + <p> + Giovanelli, from the first, had treated Winterbourne with distinguished + politeness. He listened with a deferential air to his remarks; he laughed + punctiliously at his pleasantries; he seemed disposed to testify to his + belief that Winterbourne was a superior young man. He carried himself in + no degree like a jealous wooer; he had obviously a great deal of tact; he + had no objection to your expecting a little humility of him. It even + seemed to Winterbourne at times that Giovanelli would find a certain + mental relief in being able to have a private understanding with him—to + say to him, as an intelligent man, that, bless you, HE knew how + extraordinary was this young lady, and didn’t flatter himself with + delusive—or at least TOO delusive—hopes of matrimony and + dollars. On this occasion he strolled away from his companion to pluck a + sprig of almond blossom, which he carefully arranged in his buttonhole. + </p> + <p> + “I know why you say that,” said Daisy, watching Giovanelli. “Because you + think I go round too much with HIM.” And she nodded at her attendant. + </p> + <p> + “Every one thinks so—if you care to know,” said Winterbourne. + </p> + <p> + “Of course I care to know!” Daisy exclaimed seriously. “But I don’t + believe it. They are only pretending to be shocked. They don’t really care + a straw what I do. Besides, I don’t go round so much.” + </p> + <p> + “I think you will find they do care. They will show it disagreeably.” + </p> + <p> + Daisy looked at him a moment. “How disagreeably?” + </p> + <p> + “Haven’t you noticed anything?” Winterbourne asked. + </p> + <p> + “I have noticed you. But I noticed you were as stiff as an umbrella the + first time I saw you.” + </p> + <p> + “You will find I am not so stiff as several others,” said Winterbourne, + smiling. + </p> + <p> + “How shall I find it?” + </p> + <p> + “By going to see the others.” + </p> + <p> + “What will they do to me?” + </p> + <p> + “They will give you the cold shoulder. Do you know what that means?” + </p> + <p> + Daisy was looking at him intently; she began to color. “Do you mean as + Mrs. Walker did the other night?” + </p> + <p> + “Exactly!” said Winterbourne. + </p> + <p> + She looked away at Giovanelli, who was decorating himself with his almond + blossom. Then looking back at Winterbourne, “I shouldn’t think you would + let people be so unkind!” she said. + </p> + <p> + “How can I help it?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “I should think you would say something.” + </p> + <p> + “I do say something;” and he paused a moment. “I say that your mother + tells me that she believes you are engaged.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, she does,” said Daisy very simply. + </p> + <p> + Winterbourne began to laugh. “And does Randolph believe it?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “I guess Randolph doesn’t believe anything,” said Daisy. Randolph’s + skepticism excited Winterbourne to further hilarity, and he observed that + Giovanelli was coming back to them. Daisy, observing it too, addressed + herself again to her countryman. “Since you have mentioned it,” she said, + “I AM engaged.” * * * Winterbourne looked at her; he had stopped laughing. + “You don’t believe!” she added. + </p> + <p> + He was silent a moment; and then, “Yes, I believe it,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no, you don’t!” she answered. “Well, then—I am not!” + </p> + <p> + The young girl and her cicerone were on their way to the gate of the + enclosure, so that Winterbourne, who had but lately entered, presently + took leave of them. A week afterward he went to dine at a beautiful villa + on the Caelian Hill, and, on arriving, dismissed his hired vehicle. The + evening was charming, and he promised himself the satisfaction of walking + home beneath the Arch of Constantine and past the vaguely lighted + monuments of the Forum. There was a waning moon in the sky, and her + radiance was not brilliant, but she was veiled in a thin cloud curtain + which seemed to diffuse and equalize it. When, on his return from the + villa (it was eleven o’clock), Winterbourne approached the dusky circle of + the Colosseum, it recurred to him, as a lover of the picturesque, that the + interior, in the pale moonshine, would be well worth a glance. He turned + aside and walked to one of the empty arches, near which, as he observed, + an open carriage—one of the little Roman streetcabs—was + stationed. Then he passed in, among the cavernous shadows of the great + structure, and emerged upon the clear and silent arena. The place had + never seemed to him more impressive. One-half of the gigantic circus was + in deep shade, the other was sleeping in the luminous dusk. As he stood + there he began to murmur Byron’s famous lines, out of “Manfred,” but + before he had finished his quotation he remembered that if nocturnal + meditations in the Colosseum are recommended by the poets, they are + deprecated by the doctors. The historic atmosphere was there, certainly; + but the historic atmosphere, scientifically considered, was no better than + a villainous miasma. Winterbourne walked to the middle of the arena, to + take a more general glance, intending thereafter to make a hasty retreat. + The great cross in the center was covered with shadow; it was only as he + drew near it that he made it out distinctly. Then he saw that two persons + were stationed upon the low steps which formed its base. One of these was + a woman, seated; her companion was standing in front of her. + </p> + <p> + Presently the sound of the woman’s voice came to him distinctly in the + warm night air. “Well, he looks at us as one of the old lions or tigers + may have looked at the Christian martyrs!” These were the words he heard, + in the familiar accent of Miss Daisy Miller. + </p> + <p> + “Let us hope he is not very hungry,” responded the ingenious Giovanelli. + “He will have to take me first; you will serve for dessert!” + </p> + <p> + Winterbourne stopped, with a sort of horror, and, it must be added, with a + sort of relief. It was as if a sudden illumination had been flashed upon + the ambiguity of Daisy’s behavior, and the riddle had become easy to read. + She was a young lady whom a gentleman need no longer be at pains to + respect. He stood there, looking at her—looking at her companion and + not reflecting that though he saw them vaguely, he himself must have been + more brightly visible. He felt angry with himself that he had bothered so + much about the right way of regarding Miss Daisy Miller. Then, as he was + going to advance again, he checked himself, not from the fear that he was + doing her injustice, but from a sense of the danger of appearing + unbecomingly exhilarated by this sudden revulsion from cautious criticism. + He turned away toward the entrance of the place, but, as he did so, he + heard Daisy speak again. + </p> + <p> + “Why, it was Mr. Winterbourne! He saw me, and he cuts me!” + </p> + <p> + What a clever little reprobate she was, and how smartly she played at + injured innocence! But he wouldn’t cut her. Winterbourne came forward + again and went toward the great cross. Daisy had got up; Giovanelli lifted + his hat. Winterbourne had now begun to think simply of the craziness, from + a sanitary point of view, of a delicate young girl lounging away the + evening in this nest of malaria. What if she WERE a clever little + reprobate? that was no reason for her dying of the perniciosa. “How long + have you been here?” he asked almost brutally. + </p> + <p> + Daisy, lovely in the flattering moonlight, looked at him a moment. Then—“All + the evening,” she answered, gently. * * * “I never saw anything so + pretty.” + </p> + <p> + “I am afraid,” said Winterbourne, “that you will not think Roman fever + very pretty. This is the way people catch it. I wonder,” he added, turning + to Giovanelli, “that you, a native Roman, should countenance such a + terrible indiscretion.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” said the handsome native, “for myself I am not afraid.” + </p> + <p> + “Neither am I—for you! I am speaking for this young lady.” + </p> + <p> + Giovanelli lifted his well-shaped eyebrows and showed his brilliant teeth. + But he took Winterbourne’s rebuke with docility. “I told the signorina it + was a grave indiscretion, but when was the signorina ever prudent?” + </p> + <p> + “I never was sick, and I don’t mean to be!” the signorina declared. “I + don’t look like much, but I’m healthy! I was bound to see the Colosseum by + moonlight; I shouldn’t have wanted to go home without that; and we have + had the most beautiful time, haven’t we, Mr. Giovanelli? If there has been + any danger, Eugenio can give me some pills. He has got some splendid + pills.” + </p> + <p> + “I should advise you,” said Winterbourne, “to drive home as fast as + possible and take one!” + </p> + <p> + “What you say is very wise,” Giovanelli rejoined. “I will go and make sure + the carriage is at hand.” And he went forward rapidly. + </p> + <p> + Daisy followed with Winterbourne. He kept looking at her; she seemed not + in the least embarrassed. Winterbourne said nothing; Daisy chattered about + the beauty of the place. “Well, I HAVE seen the Colosseum by moonlight!” + she exclaimed. “That’s one good thing.” Then, noticing Winterbourne’s + silence, she asked him why he didn’t speak. He made no answer; he only + began to laugh. They passed under one of the dark archways; Giovanelli was + in front with the carriage. Here Daisy stopped a moment, looking at the + young American. “DID you believe I was engaged, the other day?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “It doesn’t matter what I believed the other day,” said Winterbourne, + still laughing. + </p> + <p> + “Well, what do you believe now?” + </p> + <p> + “I believe that it makes very little difference whether you are engaged or + not!” + </p> + <p> + He felt the young girl’s pretty eyes fixed upon him through the thick + gloom of the archway; she was apparently going to answer. But Giovanelli + hurried her forward. “Quick! quick!” he said; “if we get in by midnight we + are quite safe.” + </p> + <p> + Daisy took her seat in the carriage, and the fortunate Italian placed + himself beside her. “Don’t forget Eugenio’s pills!” said Winterbourne as + he lifted his hat. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t care,” said Daisy in a little strange tone, “whether I have Roman + fever or not!” Upon this the cab driver cracked his whip, and they rolled + away over the desultory patches of the antique pavement. + </p> + <p> + Winterbourne, to do him justice, as it were, mentioned to no one that he + had encountered Miss Miller, at midnight, in the Colosseum with a + gentleman; but nevertheless, a couple of days later, the fact of her + having been there under these circumstances was known to every member of + the little American circle, and commented accordingly. Winterbourne + reflected that they had of course known it at the hotel, and that, after + Daisy’s return, there had been an exchange of remarks between the porter + and the cab driver. But the young man was conscious, at the same moment, + that it had ceased to be a matter of serious regret to him that the little + American flirt should be “talked about” by low-minded menials. These + people, a day or two later, had serious information to give: the little + American flirt was alarmingly ill. Winterbourne, when the rumor came to + him, immediately went to the hotel for more news. He found that two or + three charitable friends had preceded him, and that they were being + entertained in Mrs. Miller’s salon by Randolph. + </p> + <p> + “It’s going round at night,” said Randolph—“that’s what made her + sick. She’s always going round at night. I shouldn’t think she’d want to, + it’s so plaguy dark. You can’t see anything here at night, except when + there’s a moon. In America there’s always a moon!” Mrs. Miller was + invisible; she was now, at least, giving her daughter the advantage of her + society. It was evident that Daisy was dangerously ill. + </p> + <p> + Winterbourne went often to ask for news of her, and once he saw Mrs. + Miller, who, though deeply alarmed, was, rather to his surprise, perfectly + composed, and, as it appeared, a most efficient and judicious nurse. She + talked a good deal about Dr. Davis, but Winterbourne paid her the + compliment of saying to himself that she was not, after all, such a + monstrous goose. “Daisy spoke of you the other day,” she said to him. + “Half the time she doesn’t know what she’s saying, but that time I think + she did. She gave me a message she told me to tell you. She told me to + tell you that she never was engaged to that handsome Italian. I am sure I + am very glad; Mr. Giovanelli hasn’t been near us since she was taken ill. + I thought he was so much of a gentleman; but I don’t call that very + polite! A lady told me that he was afraid I was angry with him for taking + Daisy round at night. Well, so I am, but I suppose he knows I’m a lady. I + would scorn to scold him. Anyway, she says she’s not engaged. I don’t know + why she wanted you to know, but she said to me three times, ‘Mind you tell + Mr. Winterbourne.’ And then she told me to ask if you remembered the time + you went to that castle in Switzerland. But I said I wouldn’t give any + such messages as that. Only, if she is not engaged, I’m sure I’m glad to + know it.” + </p> + <p> + But, as Winterbourne had said, it mattered very little. A week after this, + the poor girl died; it had been a terrible case of the fever. Daisy’s + grave was in the little Protestant cemetery, in an angle of the wall of + imperial Rome, beneath the cypresses and the thick spring flowers. + Winterbourne stood there beside it, with a number of other mourners, a + number larger than the scandal excited by the young lady’s career would + have led you to expect. Near him stood Giovanelli, who came nearer still + before Winterbourne turned away. Giovanelli was very pale: on this + occasion he had no flower in his buttonhole; he seemed to wish to say + something. At last he said, “She was the most beautiful young lady I ever + saw, and the most amiable;” and then he added in a moment, “and she was + the most innocent.” + </p> + <p> + Winterbourne looked at him and presently repeated his words, “And the most + innocent?” + </p> + <p> + “The most innocent!” + </p> + <p> + Winterbourne felt sore and angry. “Why the devil,” he asked, “did you take + her to that fatal place?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Giovanelli’s urbanity was apparently imperturbable. He looked on the + ground a moment, and then he said, “For myself I had no fear; and she + wanted to go.” + </p> + <p> + “That was no reason!” Winterbourne declared. + </p> + <p> + The subtle Roman again dropped his eyes. “If she had lived, I should have + got nothing. She would never have married me, I am sure.” + </p> + <p> + “She would never have married you?” + </p> + <p> + “For a moment I hoped so. But no. I am sure.” + </p> + <p> + Winterbourne listened to him: he stood staring at the raw protuberance + among the April daisies. When he turned away again, Mr. Giovanelli, with + his light, slow step, had retired. + </p> + <p> + Winterbourne almost immediately left Rome; but the following summer he + again met his aunt, Mrs. Costello at Vevey. Mrs. Costello was fond of + Vevey. In the interval Winterbourne had often thought of Daisy Miller and + her mystifying manners. One day he spoke of her to his aunt—said it + was on his conscience that he had done her injustice. + </p> + <p> + “I am sure I don’t know,” said Mrs. Costello. “How did your injustice + affect her?” + </p> + <p> + “She sent me a message before her death which I didn’t understand at the + time; but I have understood it since. She would have appreciated one’s + esteem.” + </p> + <p> + “Is that a modest way,” asked Mrs. Costello, “of saying that she would + have reciprocated one’s affection?” + </p> + <p> + Winterbourne offered no answer to this question; but he presently said, + “You were right in that remark that you made last summer. I was booked to + make a mistake. I have lived too long in foreign parts.” + </p> + <p> + Nevertheless, he went back to live at Geneva, whence there continue to + come the most contradictory accounts of his motives of sojourn: a report + that he is “studying” hard—an intimation that he is much interested + in a very clever foreign lady. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Daisy Miller, by Henry James + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DAISY MILLER *** + +***** This file should be named 208-h.htm or 208-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/0/208/ + +Produced by Judith Boss and David Widger + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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