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"I am going out in a boat!" | Daisy Miller | approached. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy,<|quote|>"I am going out in a boat!"</|quote|>Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o | ladies. He had apparently just approached. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy,<|quote|>"I am going out in a boat!"</|quote|>Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going | out what time it is," interposed her mother. "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. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy,<|quote|>"I am going out in a boat!"</|quote|>Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not | the young girl. "It s quite lovely, the way you say that!" cried Daisy. "It will be still more lovely to do it." "Yes, it would be lovely!" said Daisy. But she made no movement to accompany him; she only stood there laughing. "I should think you had better find out what time it is," interposed her mother. "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. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy,<|quote|>"I am going out in a boat!"</|quote|>Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" | "If you will do me the honor to accept my arm, we will go and select one of them." Daisy stood there smiling; she threw back her head and gave a little, light laugh. "I like a gentleman to be formal!" she declared. "I assure you it s a formal offer." "I was bound I would make you say something," Daisy went on. "You see, it s not very difficult," said Winterbourne. "But I am afraid you are chaffing me." "I think not, sir," remarked Mrs. Miller very gently. "Do, then, let me give you a row," he said to the young girl. "It s quite lovely, the way you say that!" cried Daisy. "It will be still more lovely to do it." "Yes, it would be lovely!" said Daisy. But she made no movement to accompany him; she only stood there laughing. "I should think you had better find out what time it is," interposed her mother. "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. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy,<|quote|>"I am going out in a boat!"</|quote|>Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. Daisy turned away from Winterbourne, looking at him, smiling | 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. "I shouldn t think she d want to," said her mother. "I should think she d rather go indoors." "I m sure Mr. Winterbourne wants to take me," Daisy declared. "He s so awfully devoted!" "I will row you over to Chillon in the starlight." "I don t believe it!" said Daisy. "Well!" ejaculated the elder lady again. "You haven t spoken to me for half an hour," her daughter went on. "I have been having some very pleasant conversation with your mother," said Winterbourne. "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. "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." Daisy stood there smiling; she threw back her head and gave a little, light laugh. "I like a gentleman to be formal!" she declared. "I assure you it s a formal offer." "I was bound I would make you say something," Daisy went on. "You see, it s not very difficult," said Winterbourne. "But I am afraid you are chaffing me." "I think not, sir," remarked Mrs. Miller very gently. "Do, then, let me give you a row," he said to the young girl. "It s quite lovely, the way you say that!" cried Daisy. "It will be still more lovely to do it." "Yes, it would be lovely!" said Daisy. But she made no movement to accompany him; she only stood there laughing. "I should think you had better find out what time it is," interposed her mother. "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. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy,<|quote|>"I am going out in a boat!"</|quote|>Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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. 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. 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 | presume you will go in the cars," said her mother. "Yes, or in the boat," said Winterbourne. "Well, of course, I don t know," Mrs. Miller rejoined. "I have never been to that castle." "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. "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. "Ah yes! in England there are beautiful castles," said Winterbourne. "But Chillon here, is very well worth seeing." "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." "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?" 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. "Mr. Winterbourne!" murmured Daisy. "Mademoiselle!" said the young man. "Don t you want to take me out in a boat?" "At present?" he asked. "Of course!" said Daisy. "Well, Annie Miller!" exclaimed her mother. "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. "I shouldn t think she d want to," said her mother. "I should think she d rather go indoors." "I m sure Mr. Winterbourne wants to take me," Daisy declared. "He s so awfully devoted!" "I will row you over to Chillon in the starlight." "I don t believe it!" said Daisy. "Well!" ejaculated the elder lady again. "You haven t spoken to me for half an hour," her daughter went on. "I have been having some very pleasant conversation with your mother," said Winterbourne. "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. "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." Daisy stood there smiling; she threw back her head and gave a little, light laugh. "I like a gentleman to be formal!" she declared. "I assure you it s a formal offer." "I was bound I would make you say something," Daisy went on. "You see, it s not very difficult," said Winterbourne. "But I am afraid you are chaffing me." "I think not, sir," remarked Mrs. Miller very gently. "Do, then, let me give you a row," he said to the young girl. "It s quite lovely, the way you say that!" cried Daisy. "It will be still more lovely to do it." "Yes, it would be lovely!" said Daisy. But she made no movement to accompany him; she only stood there laughing. "I should think you had better find out what time it is," interposed her mother. "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. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy,<|quote|>"I am going out in a boat!"</|quote|>Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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. 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. 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. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an | 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. "Mr. Winterbourne!" murmured Daisy. "Mademoiselle!" said the young man. "Don t you want to take me out in a boat?" "At present?" he asked. "Of course!" said Daisy. "Well, Annie Miller!" exclaimed her mother. "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. "I shouldn t think she d want to," said her mother. "I should think she d rather go indoors." "I m sure Mr. Winterbourne wants to take me," Daisy declared. "He s so awfully devoted!" "I will row you over to Chillon in the starlight." "I don t believe it!" said Daisy. "Well!" ejaculated the elder lady again. "You haven t spoken to me for half an hour," her daughter went on. "I have been having some very pleasant conversation with your mother," said Winterbourne. "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. "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." Daisy stood there smiling; she threw back her head and gave a little, light laugh. "I like a gentleman to be formal!" she declared. "I assure you it s a formal offer." "I was bound I would make you say something," Daisy went on. "You see, it s not very difficult," said Winterbourne. "But I am afraid you are chaffing me." "I think not, sir," remarked Mrs. Miller very gently. "Do, then, let me give you a row," he said to the young girl. "It s quite lovely, the way you say that!" cried Daisy. "It will be still more lovely to do it." "Yes, it would be lovely!" said Daisy. But she made no movement to accompany him; she only stood there laughing. "I should think you had better find out what time it is," interposed her mother. "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. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy,<|quote|>"I am going out in a boat!"</|quote|>Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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. Winterbourne stood looking after them; he was indeed puzzled. He | Daisy Miller |
Eugenio bowed. | No speaker | going out in a boat!"<|quote|>Eugenio bowed.</|quote|>"At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" | Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!"<|quote|>Eugenio bowed.</|quote|>"At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. | mother. "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. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!"<|quote|>Eugenio bowed.</|quote|>"At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar | the way you say that!" cried Daisy. "It will be still more lovely to do it." "Yes, it would be lovely!" said Daisy. But she made no movement to accompany him; she only stood there laughing. "I should think you had better find out what time it is," interposed her mother. "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. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!"<|quote|>Eugenio bowed.</|quote|>"At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy | to accept my arm, we will go and select one of them." Daisy stood there smiling; she threw back her head and gave a little, light laugh. "I like a gentleman to be formal!" she declared. "I assure you it s a formal offer." "I was bound I would make you say something," Daisy went on. "You see, it s not very difficult," said Winterbourne. "But I am afraid you are chaffing me." "I think not, sir," remarked Mrs. Miller very gently. "Do, then, let me give you a row," he said to the young girl. "It s quite lovely, the way you say that!" cried Daisy. "It will be still more lovely to do it." "Yes, it would be lovely!" said Daisy. But she made no movement to accompany him; she only stood there laughing. "I should think you had better find out what time it is," interposed her mother. "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. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!"<|quote|>Eugenio bowed.</|quote|>"At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. Daisy turned away from Winterbourne, looking at him, smiling and fanning | 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. "I shouldn t think she d want to," said her mother. "I should think she d rather go indoors." "I m sure Mr. Winterbourne wants to take me," Daisy declared. "He s so awfully devoted!" "I will row you over to Chillon in the starlight." "I don t believe it!" said Daisy. "Well!" ejaculated the elder lady again. "You haven t spoken to me for half an hour," her daughter went on. "I have been having some very pleasant conversation with your mother," said Winterbourne. "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. "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." Daisy stood there smiling; she threw back her head and gave a little, light laugh. "I like a gentleman to be formal!" she declared. "I assure you it s a formal offer." "I was bound I would make you say something," Daisy went on. "You see, it s not very difficult," said Winterbourne. "But I am afraid you are chaffing me." "I think not, sir," remarked Mrs. Miller very gently. "Do, then, let me give you a row," he said to the young girl. "It s quite lovely, the way you say that!" cried Daisy. "It will be still more lovely to do it." "Yes, it would be lovely!" said Daisy. But she made no movement to accompany him; she only stood there laughing. "I should think you had better find out what time it is," interposed her mother. "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. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!"<|quote|>Eugenio bowed.</|quote|>"At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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. 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. 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, | said her mother. "Yes, or in the boat," said Winterbourne. "Well, of course, I don t know," Mrs. Miller rejoined. "I have never been to that castle." "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. "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. "Ah yes! in England there are beautiful castles," said Winterbourne. "But Chillon here, is very well worth seeing." "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." "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?" 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. "Mr. Winterbourne!" murmured Daisy. "Mademoiselle!" said the young man. "Don t you want to take me out in a boat?" "At present?" he asked. "Of course!" said Daisy. "Well, Annie Miller!" exclaimed her mother. "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. "I shouldn t think she d want to," said her mother. "I should think she d rather go indoors." "I m sure Mr. Winterbourne wants to take me," Daisy declared. "He s so awfully devoted!" "I will row you over to Chillon in the starlight." "I don t believe it!" said Daisy. "Well!" ejaculated the elder lady again. "You haven t spoken to me for half an hour," her daughter went on. "I have been having some very pleasant conversation with your mother," said Winterbourne. "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. "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." Daisy stood there smiling; she threw back her head and gave a little, light laugh. "I like a gentleman to be formal!" she declared. "I assure you it s a formal offer." "I was bound I would make you say something," Daisy went on. "You see, it s not very difficult," said Winterbourne. "But I am afraid you are chaffing me." "I think not, sir," remarked Mrs. Miller very gently. "Do, then, let me give you a row," he said to the young girl. "It s quite lovely, the way you say that!" cried Daisy. "It will be still more lovely to do it." "Yes, it would be lovely!" said Daisy. But she made no movement to accompany him; she only stood there laughing. "I should think you had better find out what time it is," interposed her mother. "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. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!"<|quote|>Eugenio bowed.</|quote|>"At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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. 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. 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. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I | 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?" 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. "Mr. Winterbourne!" murmured Daisy. "Mademoiselle!" said the young man. "Don t you want to take me out in a boat?" "At present?" he asked. "Of course!" said Daisy. "Well, Annie Miller!" exclaimed her mother. "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. "I shouldn t think she d want to," said her mother. "I should think she d rather go indoors." "I m sure Mr. Winterbourne wants to take me," Daisy declared. "He s so awfully devoted!" "I will row you over to Chillon in the starlight." "I don t believe it!" said Daisy. "Well!" ejaculated the elder lady again. "You haven t spoken to me for half an hour," her daughter went on. "I have been having some very pleasant conversation with your mother," said Winterbourne. "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. "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." Daisy stood there smiling; she threw back her head and gave a little, light laugh. "I like a gentleman to be formal!" she declared. "I assure you it s a formal offer." "I was bound I would make you say something," Daisy went on. "You see, it s not very difficult," said Winterbourne. "But I am afraid you are chaffing me." "I think not, sir," remarked Mrs. Miller very gently. "Do, then, let me give you a row," he said to the young girl. "It s quite lovely, the way you say that!" cried Daisy. "It will be still more lovely to do it." "Yes, it would be lovely!" said Daisy. But she made no movement to accompany him; she only stood there laughing. "I should think you had better find out what time it is," interposed her mother. "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. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!"<|quote|>Eugenio bowed.</|quote|>"At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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. 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. 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 | Daisy Miller |
"I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." | Daisy Miller | "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?"<|quote|>"I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute."</|quote|>"Do tell her she can | in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?"<|quote|>"I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute."</|quote|>"Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to | 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. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?"<|quote|>"I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute."</|quote|>"Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think | "It will be still more lovely to do it." "Yes, it would be lovely!" said Daisy. But she made no movement to accompany him; she only stood there laughing. "I should think you had better find out what time it is," interposed her mother. "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. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?"<|quote|>"I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute."</|quote|>"Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. The courier looked for a moment at Winterbourne--the latter thought he | and select one of them." Daisy stood there smiling; she threw back her head and gave a little, light laugh. "I like a gentleman to be formal!" she declared. "I assure you it s a formal offer." "I was bound I would make you say something," Daisy went on. "You see, it s not very difficult," said Winterbourne. "But I am afraid you are chaffing me." "I think not, sir," remarked Mrs. Miller very gently. "Do, then, let me give you a row," he said to the young girl. "It s quite lovely, the way you say that!" cried Daisy. "It will be still more lovely to do it." "Yes, it would be lovely!" said Daisy. But she made no movement to accompany him; she only stood there laughing. "I should think you had better find out what time it is," interposed her mother. "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. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?"<|quote|>"I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute."</|quote|>"Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. Daisy turned away from Winterbourne, looking at him, smiling and fanning herself. "Good night," she said; "I hope you are disappointed, or disgusted, or | yet enjoyed the sensation of guiding through the summer starlight a skiff freighted with a fresh and beautiful young girl. "I shouldn t think she d want to," said her mother. "I should think she d rather go indoors." "I m sure Mr. Winterbourne wants to take me," Daisy declared. "He s so awfully devoted!" "I will row you over to Chillon in the starlight." "I don t believe it!" said Daisy. "Well!" ejaculated the elder lady again. "You haven t spoken to me for half an hour," her daughter went on. "I have been having some very pleasant conversation with your mother," said Winterbourne. "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. "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." Daisy stood there smiling; she threw back her head and gave a little, light laugh. "I like a gentleman to be formal!" she declared. "I assure you it s a formal offer." "I was bound I would make you say something," Daisy went on. "You see, it s not very difficult," said Winterbourne. "But I am afraid you are chaffing me." "I think not, sir," remarked Mrs. Miller very gently. "Do, then, let me give you a row," he said to the young girl. "It s quite lovely, the way you say that!" cried Daisy. "It will be still more lovely to do it." "Yes, it would be lovely!" said Daisy. But she made no movement to accompany him; she only stood there laughing. "I should think you had better find out what time it is," interposed her mother. "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. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?"<|quote|>"I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute."</|quote|>"Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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. 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. 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 | boat," said Winterbourne. "Well, of course, I don t know," Mrs. Miller rejoined. "I have never been to that castle." "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. "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. "Ah yes! in England there are beautiful castles," said Winterbourne. "But Chillon here, is very well worth seeing." "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." "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?" 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. "Mr. Winterbourne!" murmured Daisy. "Mademoiselle!" said the young man. "Don t you want to take me out in a boat?" "At present?" he asked. "Of course!" said Daisy. "Well, Annie Miller!" exclaimed her mother. "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. "I shouldn t think she d want to," said her mother. "I should think she d rather go indoors." "I m sure Mr. Winterbourne wants to take me," Daisy declared. "He s so awfully devoted!" "I will row you over to Chillon in the starlight." "I don t believe it!" said Daisy. "Well!" ejaculated the elder lady again. "You haven t spoken to me for half an hour," her daughter went on. "I have been having some very pleasant conversation with your mother," said Winterbourne. "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. "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." Daisy stood there smiling; she threw back her head and gave a little, light laugh. "I like a gentleman to be formal!" she declared. "I assure you it s a formal offer." "I was bound I would make you say something," Daisy went on. "You see, it s not very difficult," said Winterbourne. "But I am afraid you are chaffing me." "I think not, sir," remarked Mrs. Miller very gently. "Do, then, let me give you a row," he said to the young girl. "It s quite lovely, the way you say that!" cried Daisy. "It will be still more lovely to do it." "Yes, it would be lovely!" said Daisy. But she made no movement to accompany him; she only stood there laughing. "I should think you had better find out what time it is," interposed her mother. "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. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?"<|quote|>"I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute."</|quote|>"Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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. 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. 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. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking | to Chillon in the starlight." "I don t believe it!" said Daisy. "Well!" ejaculated the elder lady again. "You haven t spoken to me for half an hour," her daughter went on. "I have been having some very pleasant conversation with your mother," said Winterbourne. "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. "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." Daisy stood there smiling; she threw back her head and gave a little, light laugh. "I like a gentleman to be formal!" she declared. "I assure you it s a formal offer." "I was bound I would make you say something," Daisy went on. "You see, it s not very difficult," said Winterbourne. "But I am afraid you are chaffing me." "I think not, sir," remarked Mrs. Miller very gently. "Do, then, let me give you a row," he said to the young girl. "It s quite lovely, the way you say that!" cried Daisy. "It will be still more lovely to do it." "Yes, it would be lovely!" said Daisy. But she made no movement to accompany him; she only stood there laughing. "I should think you had better find out what time it is," interposed her mother. "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. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?"<|quote|>"I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute."</|quote|>"Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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. 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. 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 | Daisy Miller |
"Do tell her she can t," | Mrs. Miller | with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute."<|quote|>"Do tell her she can t,"</|quote|>said Mrs. Miller to the | clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute."<|quote|>"Do tell her she can t,"</|quote|>said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had | of the neighboring darkness; and Winterbourne, turning, perceived the florid personage who was in attendance upon the two ladies. He had apparently just approached. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute."<|quote|>"Do tell her she can t,"</|quote|>said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio | it." "Yes, it would be lovely!" said Daisy. But she made no movement to accompany him; she only stood there laughing. "I should think you had better find out what time it is," interposed her mother. "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. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute."<|quote|>"Do tell her she can t,"</|quote|>said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. The courier looked for a moment at Winterbourne--the latter thought he was smiling--and then, solemnly, with a | smiling; she threw back her head and gave a little, light laugh. "I like a gentleman to be formal!" she declared. "I assure you it s a formal offer." "I was bound I would make you say something," Daisy went on. "You see, it s not very difficult," said Winterbourne. "But I am afraid you are chaffing me." "I think not, sir," remarked Mrs. Miller very gently. "Do, then, let me give you a row," he said to the young girl. "It s quite lovely, the way you say that!" cried Daisy. "It will be still more lovely to do it." "Yes, it would be lovely!" said Daisy. But she made no movement to accompany him; she only stood there laughing. "I should think you had better find out what time it is," interposed her mother. "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. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute."<|quote|>"Do tell her she can t,"</|quote|>said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking | summer starlight a skiff freighted with a fresh and beautiful young girl. "I shouldn t think she d want to," said her mother. "I should think she d rather go indoors." "I m sure Mr. Winterbourne wants to take me," Daisy declared. "He s so awfully devoted!" "I will row you over to Chillon in the starlight." "I don t believe it!" said Daisy. "Well!" ejaculated the elder lady again. "You haven t spoken to me for half an hour," her daughter went on. "I have been having some very pleasant conversation with your mother," said Winterbourne. "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. "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." Daisy stood there smiling; she threw back her head and gave a little, light laugh. "I like a gentleman to be formal!" she declared. "I assure you it s a formal offer." "I was bound I would make you say something," Daisy went on. "You see, it s not very difficult," said Winterbourne. "But I am afraid you are chaffing me." "I think not, sir," remarked Mrs. Miller very gently. "Do, then, let me give you a row," he said to the young girl. "It s quite lovely, the way you say that!" cried Daisy. "It will be still more lovely to do it." "Yes, it would be lovely!" said Daisy. But she made no movement to accompany him; she only stood there laughing. "I should think you had better find out what time it is," interposed her mother. "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. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute."<|quote|>"Do tell her she can t,"</|quote|>said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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. 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. 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 | t know," Mrs. Miller rejoined. "I have never been to that castle." "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. "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. "Ah yes! in England there are beautiful castles," said Winterbourne. "But Chillon here, is very well worth seeing." "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." "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?" 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. "Mr. Winterbourne!" murmured Daisy. "Mademoiselle!" said the young man. "Don t you want to take me out in a boat?" "At present?" he asked. "Of course!" said Daisy. "Well, Annie Miller!" exclaimed her mother. "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. "I shouldn t think she d want to," said her mother. "I should think she d rather go indoors." "I m sure Mr. Winterbourne wants to take me," Daisy declared. "He s so awfully devoted!" "I will row you over to Chillon in the starlight." "I don t believe it!" said Daisy. "Well!" ejaculated the elder lady again. "You haven t spoken to me for half an hour," her daughter went on. "I have been having some very pleasant conversation with your mother," said Winterbourne. "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. "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." Daisy stood there smiling; she threw back her head and gave a little, light laugh. "I like a gentleman to be formal!" she declared. "I assure you it s a formal offer." "I was bound I would make you say something," Daisy went on. "You see, it s not very difficult," said Winterbourne. "But I am afraid you are chaffing me." "I think not, sir," remarked Mrs. Miller very gently. "Do, then, let me give you a row," he said to the young girl. "It s quite lovely, the way you say that!" cried Daisy. "It will be still more lovely to do it." "Yes, it would be lovely!" said Daisy. But she made no movement to accompany him; she only stood there laughing. "I should think you had better find out what time it is," interposed her mother. "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. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute."<|quote|>"Do tell her she can t,"</|quote|>said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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. 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. 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. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that | one of them." Daisy stood there smiling; she threw back her head and gave a little, light laugh. "I like a gentleman to be formal!" she declared. "I assure you it s a formal offer." "I was bound I would make you say something," Daisy went on. "You see, it s not very difficult," said Winterbourne. "But I am afraid you are chaffing me." "I think not, sir," remarked Mrs. Miller very gently. "Do, then, let me give you a row," he said to the young girl. "It s quite lovely, the way you say that!" cried Daisy. "It will be still more lovely to do it." "Yes, it would be lovely!" said Daisy. But she made no movement to accompany him; she only stood there laughing. "I should think you had better find out what time it is," interposed her mother. "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. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute."<|quote|>"Do tell her she can t,"</|quote|>said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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. 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. 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 | Daisy Miller |
said Mrs. Miller to the courier. | No speaker | tell her she can t,"<|quote|>said Mrs. Miller to the courier.</|quote|>"I think you had better | Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t,"<|quote|>said Mrs. Miller to the courier.</|quote|>"I think you had better not go out in a | turning, perceived the florid personage who was in attendance upon the two ladies. He had apparently just approached. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t,"<|quote|>said Mrs. Miller to the courier.</|quote|>"I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." | said Daisy. But she made no movement to accompany him; she only stood there laughing. "I should think you had better find out what time it is," interposed her mother. "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. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t,"<|quote|>said Mrs. Miller to the courier.</|quote|>"I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. | and gave a little, light laugh. "I like a gentleman to be formal!" she declared. "I assure you it s a formal offer." "I was bound I would make you say something," Daisy went on. "You see, it s not very difficult," said Winterbourne. "But I am afraid you are chaffing me." "I think not, sir," remarked Mrs. Miller very gently. "Do, then, let me give you a row," he said to the young girl. "It s quite lovely, the way you say that!" cried Daisy. "It will be still more lovely to do it." "Yes, it would be lovely!" said Daisy. But she made no movement to accompany him; she only stood there laughing. "I should think you had better find out what time it is," interposed her mother. "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. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t,"<|quote|>said Mrs. Miller to the courier.</|quote|>"I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I | a fresh and beautiful young girl. "I shouldn t think she d want to," said her mother. "I should think she d rather go indoors." "I m sure Mr. Winterbourne wants to take me," Daisy declared. "He s so awfully devoted!" "I will row you over to Chillon in the starlight." "I don t believe it!" said Daisy. "Well!" ejaculated the elder lady again. "You haven t spoken to me for half an hour," her daughter went on. "I have been having some very pleasant conversation with your mother," said Winterbourne. "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. "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." Daisy stood there smiling; she threw back her head and gave a little, light laugh. "I like a gentleman to be formal!" she declared. "I assure you it s a formal offer." "I was bound I would make you say something," Daisy went on. "You see, it s not very difficult," said Winterbourne. "But I am afraid you are chaffing me." "I think not, sir," remarked Mrs. Miller very gently. "Do, then, let me give you a row," he said to the young girl. "It s quite lovely, the way you say that!" cried Daisy. "It will be still more lovely to do it." "Yes, it would be lovely!" said Daisy. But she made no movement to accompany him; she only stood there laughing. "I should think you had better find out what time it is," interposed her mother. "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. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t,"<|quote|>said Mrs. Miller to the courier.</|quote|>"I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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. 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. 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 | have never been to that castle." "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. "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. "Ah yes! in England there are beautiful castles," said Winterbourne. "But Chillon here, is very well worth seeing." "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." "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?" 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. "Mr. Winterbourne!" murmured Daisy. "Mademoiselle!" said the young man. "Don t you want to take me out in a boat?" "At present?" he asked. "Of course!" said Daisy. "Well, Annie Miller!" exclaimed her mother. "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. "I shouldn t think she d want to," said her mother. "I should think she d rather go indoors." "I m sure Mr. Winterbourne wants to take me," Daisy declared. "He s so awfully devoted!" "I will row you over to Chillon in the starlight." "I don t believe it!" said Daisy. "Well!" ejaculated the elder lady again. "You haven t spoken to me for half an hour," her daughter went on. "I have been having some very pleasant conversation with your mother," said Winterbourne. "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. "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." Daisy stood there smiling; she threw back her head and gave a little, light laugh. "I like a gentleman to be formal!" she declared. "I assure you it s a formal offer." "I was bound I would make you say something," Daisy went on. "You see, it s not very difficult," said Winterbourne. "But I am afraid you are chaffing me." "I think not, sir," remarked Mrs. Miller very gently. "Do, then, let me give you a row," he said to the young girl. "It s quite lovely, the way you say that!" cried Daisy. "It will be still more lovely to do it." "Yes, it would be lovely!" said Daisy. But she made no movement to accompany him; she only stood there laughing. "I should think you had better find out what time it is," interposed her mother. "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. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t,"<|quote|>said Mrs. Miller to the courier.</|quote|>"I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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. 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. 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. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are | her mother. "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. "I shouldn t think she d want to," said her mother. "I should think she d rather go indoors." "I m sure Mr. Winterbourne wants to take me," Daisy declared. "He s so awfully devoted!" "I will row you over to Chillon in the starlight." "I don t believe it!" said Daisy. "Well!" ejaculated the elder lady again. "You haven t spoken to me for half an hour," her daughter went on. "I have been having some very pleasant conversation with your mother," said Winterbourne. "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. "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." Daisy stood there smiling; she threw back her head and gave a little, light laugh. "I like a gentleman to be formal!" she declared. "I assure you it s a formal offer." "I was bound I would make you say something," Daisy went on. "You see, it s not very difficult," said Winterbourne. "But I am afraid you are chaffing me." "I think not, sir," remarked Mrs. Miller very gently. "Do, then, let me give you a row," he said to the young girl. "It s quite lovely, the way you say that!" cried Daisy. "It will be still more lovely to do it." "Yes, it would be lovely!" said Daisy. But she made no movement to accompany him; she only stood there laughing. "I should think you had better find out what time it is," interposed her mother. "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. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t,"<|quote|>said Mrs. Miller to the courier.</|quote|>"I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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. 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. 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 | Daisy Miller |
Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. | No speaker | out in a boat, mademoiselle,"<|quote|>Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing.</|quote|>"I suppose you don t | you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle,"<|quote|>Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing.</|quote|>"I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy | "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle,"<|quote|>Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing.</|quote|>"I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. The courier looked for a | you had better find out what time it is," interposed her mother. "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. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle,"<|quote|>Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing.</|quote|>"I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s | it s a formal offer." "I was bound I would make you say something," Daisy went on. "You see, it s not very difficult," said Winterbourne. "But I am afraid you are chaffing me." "I think not, sir," remarked Mrs. Miller very gently. "Do, then, let me give you a row," he said to the young girl. "It s quite lovely, the way you say that!" cried Daisy. "It will be still more lovely to do it." "Yes, it would be lovely!" said Daisy. But she made no movement to accompany him; she only stood there laughing. "I should think you had better find out what time it is," interposed her mother. "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. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle,"<|quote|>Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing.</|quote|>"I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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. | should think she d rather go indoors." "I m sure Mr. Winterbourne wants to take me," Daisy declared. "He s so awfully devoted!" "I will row you over to Chillon in the starlight." "I don t believe it!" said Daisy. "Well!" ejaculated the elder lady again. "You haven t spoken to me for half an hour," her daughter went on. "I have been having some very pleasant conversation with your mother," said Winterbourne. "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. "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." Daisy stood there smiling; she threw back her head and gave a little, light laugh. "I like a gentleman to be formal!" she declared. "I assure you it s a formal offer." "I was bound I would make you say something," Daisy went on. "You see, it s not very difficult," said Winterbourne. "But I am afraid you are chaffing me." "I think not, sir," remarked Mrs. Miller very gently. "Do, then, let me give you a row," he said to the young girl. "It s quite lovely, the way you say that!" cried Daisy. "It will be still more lovely to do it." "Yes, it would be lovely!" said Daisy. But she made no movement to accompany him; she only stood there laughing. "I should think you had better find out what time it is," interposed her mother. "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. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle,"<|quote|>Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing.</|quote|>"I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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. 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. 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 | 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. "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. "Ah yes! in England there are beautiful castles," said Winterbourne. "But Chillon here, is very well worth seeing." "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." "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?" 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. "Mr. Winterbourne!" murmured Daisy. "Mademoiselle!" said the young man. "Don t you want to take me out in a boat?" "At present?" he asked. "Of course!" said Daisy. "Well, Annie Miller!" exclaimed her mother. "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. "I shouldn t think she d want to," said her mother. "I should think she d rather go indoors." "I m sure Mr. Winterbourne wants to take me," Daisy declared. "He s so awfully devoted!" "I will row you over to Chillon in the starlight." "I don t believe it!" said Daisy. "Well!" ejaculated the elder lady again. "You haven t spoken to me for half an hour," her daughter went on. "I have been having some very pleasant conversation with your mother," said Winterbourne. "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. "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." Daisy stood there smiling; she threw back her head and gave a little, light laugh. "I like a gentleman to be formal!" she declared. "I assure you it s a formal offer." "I was bound I would make you say something," Daisy went on. "You see, it s not very difficult," said Winterbourne. "But I am afraid you are chaffing me." "I think not, sir," remarked Mrs. Miller very gently. "Do, then, let me give you a row," he said to the young girl. "It s quite lovely, the way you say that!" cried Daisy. "It will be still more lovely to do it." "Yes, it would be lovely!" said Daisy. But she made no movement to accompany him; she only stood there laughing. "I should think you had better find out what time it is," interposed her mother. "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. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle,"<|quote|>Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing.</|quote|>"I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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. 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. 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. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I | go and select one of them." Daisy stood there smiling; she threw back her head and gave a little, light laugh. "I like a gentleman to be formal!" she declared. "I assure you it s a formal offer." "I was bound I would make you say something," Daisy went on. "You see, it s not very difficult," said Winterbourne. "But I am afraid you are chaffing me." "I think not, sir," remarked Mrs. Miller very gently. "Do, then, let me give you a row," he said to the young girl. "It s quite lovely, the way you say that!" cried Daisy. "It will be still more lovely to do it." "Yes, it would be lovely!" said Daisy. But she made no movement to accompany him; she only stood there laughing. "I should think you had better find out what time it is," interposed her mother. "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. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle,"<|quote|>Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing.</|quote|>"I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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. 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. 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, | Daisy Miller |
"I suppose you don t think it s proper!" | Daisy Miller | courier; but he said nothing.<|quote|>"I suppose you don t think it s proper!"</|quote|>Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t | not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing.<|quote|>"I suppose you don t think it s proper!"</|quote|>Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I | going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing.<|quote|>"I suppose you don t think it s proper!"</|quote|>Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. The courier looked for a moment at Winterbourne--the latter thought he was smiling--and then, | 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. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing.<|quote|>"I suppose you don t think it s proper!"</|quote|>Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl | s not very difficult," said Winterbourne. "But I am afraid you are chaffing me." "I think not, sir," remarked Mrs. Miller very gently. "Do, then, let me give you a row," he said to the young girl. "It s quite lovely, the way you say that!" cried Daisy. "It will be still more lovely to do it." "Yes, it would be lovely!" said Daisy. But she made no movement to accompany him; she only stood there laughing. "I should think you had better find out what time it is," interposed her mother. "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. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing.<|quote|>"I suppose you don t think it s proper!"</|quote|>Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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. Winterbourne stood looking after them; he was indeed puzzled. | so awfully devoted!" "I will row you over to Chillon in the starlight." "I don t believe it!" said Daisy. "Well!" ejaculated the elder lady again. "You haven t spoken to me for half an hour," her daughter went on. "I have been having some very pleasant conversation with your mother," said Winterbourne. "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. "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." Daisy stood there smiling; she threw back her head and gave a little, light laugh. "I like a gentleman to be formal!" she declared. "I assure you it s a formal offer." "I was bound I would make you say something," Daisy went on. "You see, it s not very difficult," said Winterbourne. "But I am afraid you are chaffing me." "I think not, sir," remarked Mrs. Miller very gently. "Do, then, let me give you a row," he said to the young girl. "It s quite lovely, the way you say that!" cried Daisy. "It will be still more lovely to do it." "Yes, it would be lovely!" said Daisy. But she made no movement to accompany him; she only stood there laughing. "I should think you had better find out what time it is," interposed her mother. "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. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing.<|quote|>"I suppose you don t think it s proper!"</|quote|>Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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. 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. 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 | she meant to accompany her daughter. "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. "Ah yes! in England there are beautiful castles," said Winterbourne. "But Chillon here, is very well worth seeing." "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." "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?" 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. "Mr. Winterbourne!" murmured Daisy. "Mademoiselle!" said the young man. "Don t you want to take me out in a boat?" "At present?" he asked. "Of course!" said Daisy. "Well, Annie Miller!" exclaimed her mother. "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. "I shouldn t think she d want to," said her mother. "I should think she d rather go indoors." "I m sure Mr. Winterbourne wants to take me," Daisy declared. "He s so awfully devoted!" "I will row you over to Chillon in the starlight." "I don t believe it!" said Daisy. "Well!" ejaculated the elder lady again. "You haven t spoken to me for half an hour," her daughter went on. "I have been having some very pleasant conversation with your mother," said Winterbourne. "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. "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." Daisy stood there smiling; she threw back her head and gave a little, light laugh. "I like a gentleman to be formal!" she declared. "I assure you it s a formal offer." "I was bound I would make you say something," Daisy went on. "You see, it s not very difficult," said Winterbourne. "But I am afraid you are chaffing me." "I think not, sir," remarked Mrs. Miller very gently. "Do, then, let me give you a row," he said to the young girl. "It s quite lovely, the way you say that!" cried Daisy. "It will be still more lovely to do it." "Yes, it would be lovely!" said Daisy. But she made no movement to accompany him; she only stood there laughing. "I should think you had better find out what time it is," interposed her mother. "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. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing.<|quote|>"I suppose you don t think it s proper!"</|quote|>Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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. 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. 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. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. | 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. "Mr. Winterbourne!" murmured Daisy. "Mademoiselle!" said the young man. "Don t you want to take me out in a boat?" "At present?" he asked. "Of course!" said Daisy. "Well, Annie Miller!" exclaimed her mother. "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. "I shouldn t think she d want to," said her mother. "I should think she d rather go indoors." "I m sure Mr. Winterbourne wants to take me," Daisy declared. "He s so awfully devoted!" "I will row you over to Chillon in the starlight." "I don t believe it!" said Daisy. "Well!" ejaculated the elder lady again. "You haven t spoken to me for half an hour," her daughter went on. "I have been having some very pleasant conversation with your mother," said Winterbourne. "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. "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." Daisy stood there smiling; she threw back her head and gave a little, light laugh. "I like a gentleman to be formal!" she declared. "I assure you it s a formal offer." "I was bound I would make you say something," Daisy went on. "You see, it s not very difficult," said Winterbourne. "But I am afraid you are chaffing me." "I think not, sir," remarked Mrs. Miller very gently. "Do, then, let me give you a row," he said to the young girl. "It s quite lovely, the way you say that!" cried Daisy. "It will be still more lovely to do it." "Yes, it would be lovely!" said Daisy. But she made no movement to accompany him; she only stood there laughing. "I should think you had better find out what time it is," interposed her mother. "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. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing.<|quote|>"I suppose you don t think it s proper!"</|quote|>Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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. 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. 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 | Daisy Miller |
Daisy exclaimed. | No speaker | t think it s proper!"<|quote|>Daisy exclaimed.</|quote|>"Eugenio doesn t think anything | nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!"<|quote|>Daisy exclaimed.</|quote|>"Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at | she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!"<|quote|>Daisy exclaimed.</|quote|>"Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. The courier looked for a moment at Winterbourne--the latter thought he was smiling--and then, solemnly, with | darkness; and Winterbourne, turning, perceived the florid personage who was in attendance upon the two ladies. He had apparently just approached. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!"<|quote|>Daisy exclaimed.</|quote|>"Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to | afraid you are chaffing me." "I think not, sir," remarked Mrs. Miller very gently. "Do, then, let me give you a row," he said to the young girl. "It s quite lovely, the way you say that!" cried Daisy. "It will be still more lovely to do it." "Yes, it would be lovely!" said Daisy. But she made no movement to accompany him; she only stood there laughing. "I should think you had better find out what time it is," interposed her mother. "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. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!"<|quote|>Daisy exclaimed.</|quote|>"Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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. Winterbourne stood looking after them; he was indeed puzzled. He lingered | Chillon in the starlight." "I don t believe it!" said Daisy. "Well!" ejaculated the elder lady again. "You haven t spoken to me for half an hour," her daughter went on. "I have been having some very pleasant conversation with your mother," said Winterbourne. "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. "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." Daisy stood there smiling; she threw back her head and gave a little, light laugh. "I like a gentleman to be formal!" she declared. "I assure you it s a formal offer." "I was bound I would make you say something," Daisy went on. "You see, it s not very difficult," said Winterbourne. "But I am afraid you are chaffing me." "I think not, sir," remarked Mrs. Miller very gently. "Do, then, let me give you a row," he said to the young girl. "It s quite lovely, the way you say that!" cried Daisy. "It will be still more lovely to do it." "Yes, it would be lovely!" said Daisy. But she made no movement to accompany him; she only stood there laughing. "I should think you had better find out what time it is," interposed her mother. "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. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!"<|quote|>Daisy exclaimed.</|quote|>"Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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. 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. 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 | 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. "Ah yes! in England there are beautiful castles," said Winterbourne. "But Chillon here, is very well worth seeing." "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." "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?" 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. "Mr. Winterbourne!" murmured Daisy. "Mademoiselle!" said the young man. "Don t you want to take me out in a boat?" "At present?" he asked. "Of course!" said Daisy. "Well, Annie Miller!" exclaimed her mother. "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. "I shouldn t think she d want to," said her mother. "I should think she d rather go indoors." "I m sure Mr. Winterbourne wants to take me," Daisy declared. "He s so awfully devoted!" "I will row you over to Chillon in the starlight." "I don t believe it!" said Daisy. "Well!" ejaculated the elder lady again. "You haven t spoken to me for half an hour," her daughter went on. "I have been having some very pleasant conversation with your mother," said Winterbourne. "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. "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." Daisy stood there smiling; she threw back her head and gave a little, light laugh. "I like a gentleman to be formal!" she declared. "I assure you it s a formal offer." "I was bound I would make you say something," Daisy went on. "You see, it s not very difficult," said Winterbourne. "But I am afraid you are chaffing me." "I think not, sir," remarked Mrs. Miller very gently. "Do, then, let me give you a row," he said to the young girl. "It s quite lovely, the way you say that!" cried Daisy. "It will be still more lovely to do it." "Yes, it would be lovely!" said Daisy. But she made no movement to accompany him; she only stood there laughing. "I should think you had better find out what time it is," interposed her mother. "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. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!"<|quote|>Daisy exclaimed.</|quote|>"Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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. 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. 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. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. She looked | through the summer starlight a skiff freighted with a fresh and beautiful young girl. "I shouldn t think she d want to," said her mother. "I should think she d rather go indoors." "I m sure Mr. Winterbourne wants to take me," Daisy declared. "He s so awfully devoted!" "I will row you over to Chillon in the starlight." "I don t believe it!" said Daisy. "Well!" ejaculated the elder lady again. "You haven t spoken to me for half an hour," her daughter went on. "I have been having some very pleasant conversation with your mother," said Winterbourne. "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. "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." Daisy stood there smiling; she threw back her head and gave a little, light laugh. "I like a gentleman to be formal!" she declared. "I assure you it s a formal offer." "I was bound I would make you say something," Daisy went on. "You see, it s not very difficult," said Winterbourne. "But I am afraid you are chaffing me." "I think not, sir," remarked Mrs. Miller very gently. "Do, then, let me give you a row," he said to the young girl. "It s quite lovely, the way you say that!" cried Daisy. "It will be still more lovely to do it." "Yes, it would be lovely!" said Daisy. But she made no movement to accompany him; she only stood there laughing. "I should think you had better find out what time it is," interposed her mother. "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. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!"<|quote|>Daisy exclaimed.</|quote|>"Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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. 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. 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 | Daisy Miller |
"Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." | Daisy Miller | it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed.<|quote|>"Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper."</|quote|>"I am at your service," | suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed.<|quote|>"Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper."</|quote|>"I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose | t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed.<|quote|>"Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper."</|quote|>"I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. | Winterbourne, turning, perceived the florid personage who was in attendance upon the two ladies. He had apparently just approached. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed.<|quote|>"Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper."</|quote|>"I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to | are chaffing me." "I think not, sir," remarked Mrs. Miller very gently. "Do, then, let me give you a row," he said to the young girl. "It s quite lovely, the way you say that!" cried Daisy. "It will be still more lovely to do it." "Yes, it would be lovely!" said Daisy. But she made no movement to accompany him; she only stood there laughing. "I should think you had better find out what time it is," interposed her mother. "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. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed.<|quote|>"Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper."</|quote|>"I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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. Winterbourne stood looking after them; he was indeed puzzled. He lingered beside the lake for a quarter of | the starlight." "I don t believe it!" said Daisy. "Well!" ejaculated the elder lady again. "You haven t spoken to me for half an hour," her daughter went on. "I have been having some very pleasant conversation with your mother," said Winterbourne. "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. "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." Daisy stood there smiling; she threw back her head and gave a little, light laugh. "I like a gentleman to be formal!" she declared. "I assure you it s a formal offer." "I was bound I would make you say something," Daisy went on. "You see, it s not very difficult," said Winterbourne. "But I am afraid you are chaffing me." "I think not, sir," remarked Mrs. Miller very gently. "Do, then, let me give you a row," he said to the young girl. "It s quite lovely, the way you say that!" cried Daisy. "It will be still more lovely to do it." "Yes, it would be lovely!" said Daisy. But she made no movement to accompany him; she only stood there laughing. "I should think you had better find out what time it is," interposed her mother. "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. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed.<|quote|>"Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper."</|quote|>"I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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. 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. 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 | 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. "Ah yes! in England there are beautiful castles," said Winterbourne. "But Chillon here, is very well worth seeing." "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." "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?" 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. "Mr. Winterbourne!" murmured Daisy. "Mademoiselle!" said the young man. "Don t you want to take me out in a boat?" "At present?" he asked. "Of course!" said Daisy. "Well, Annie Miller!" exclaimed her mother. "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. "I shouldn t think she d want to," said her mother. "I should think she d rather go indoors." "I m sure Mr. Winterbourne wants to take me," Daisy declared. "He s so awfully devoted!" "I will row you over to Chillon in the starlight." "I don t believe it!" said Daisy. "Well!" ejaculated the elder lady again. "You haven t spoken to me for half an hour," her daughter went on. "I have been having some very pleasant conversation with your mother," said Winterbourne. "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. "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." Daisy stood there smiling; she threw back her head and gave a little, light laugh. "I like a gentleman to be formal!" she declared. "I assure you it s a formal offer." "I was bound I would make you say something," Daisy went on. "You see, it s not very difficult," said Winterbourne. "But I am afraid you are chaffing me." "I think not, sir," remarked Mrs. Miller very gently. "Do, then, let me give you a row," he said to the young girl. "It s quite lovely, the way you say that!" cried Daisy. "It will be still more lovely to do it." "Yes, it would be lovely!" said Daisy. But she made no movement to accompany him; she only stood there laughing. "I should think you had better find out what time it is," interposed her mother. "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. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed.<|quote|>"Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper."</|quote|>"I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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. 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. 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. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. She looked at him a moment and then burst | there smiling; she threw back her head and gave a little, light laugh. "I like a gentleman to be formal!" she declared. "I assure you it s a formal offer." "I was bound I would make you say something," Daisy went on. "You see, it s not very difficult," said Winterbourne. "But I am afraid you are chaffing me." "I think not, sir," remarked Mrs. Miller very gently. "Do, then, let me give you a row," he said to the young girl. "It s quite lovely, the way you say that!" cried Daisy. "It will be still more lovely to do it." "Yes, it would be lovely!" said Daisy. But she made no movement to accompany him; she only stood there laughing. "I should think you had better find out what time it is," interposed her mother. "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. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed.<|quote|>"Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper."</|quote|>"I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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. 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. 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 | Daisy Miller |
"I am at your service," | Winterbourne | t think anything s proper."<|quote|>"I am at your service,"</|quote|>said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose | proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper."<|quote|>"I am at your service,"</|quote|>said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio | "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper."<|quote|>"I am at your service,"</|quote|>said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would | was in attendance upon the two ladies. He had apparently just approached. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper."<|quote|>"I am at your service,"</|quote|>said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. | remarked Mrs. Miller very gently. "Do, then, let me give you a row," he said to the young girl. "It s quite lovely, the way you say that!" cried Daisy. "It will be still more lovely to do it." "Yes, it would be lovely!" said Daisy. But she made no movement to accompany him; she only stood there laughing. "I should think you had better find out what time it is," interposed her mother. "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. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper."<|quote|>"I am at your service,"</|quote|>said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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. Winterbourne stood looking after them; he was indeed puzzled. He lingered beside the lake for a quarter of an hour, turning over the | said Daisy. "Well!" ejaculated the elder lady again. "You haven t spoken to me for half an hour," her daughter went on. "I have been having some very pleasant conversation with your mother," said Winterbourne. "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. "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." Daisy stood there smiling; she threw back her head and gave a little, light laugh. "I like a gentleman to be formal!" she declared. "I assure you it s a formal offer." "I was bound I would make you say something," Daisy went on. "You see, it s not very difficult," said Winterbourne. "But I am afraid you are chaffing me." "I think not, sir," remarked Mrs. Miller very gently. "Do, then, let me give you a row," he said to the young girl. "It s quite lovely, the way you say that!" cried Daisy. "It will be still more lovely to do it." "Yes, it would be lovely!" said Daisy. But she made no movement to accompany him; she only stood there laughing. "I should think you had better find out what time it is," interposed her mother. "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. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper."<|quote|>"I am at your service,"</|quote|>said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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. 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. 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 | 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. "Ah yes! in England there are beautiful castles," said Winterbourne. "But Chillon here, is very well worth seeing." "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." "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?" 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. "Mr. Winterbourne!" murmured Daisy. "Mademoiselle!" said the young man. "Don t you want to take me out in a boat?" "At present?" he asked. "Of course!" said Daisy. "Well, Annie Miller!" exclaimed her mother. "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. "I shouldn t think she d want to," said her mother. "I should think she d rather go indoors." "I m sure Mr. Winterbourne wants to take me," Daisy declared. "He s so awfully devoted!" "I will row you over to Chillon in the starlight." "I don t believe it!" said Daisy. "Well!" ejaculated the elder lady again. "You haven t spoken to me for half an hour," her daughter went on. "I have been having some very pleasant conversation with your mother," said Winterbourne. "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. "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." Daisy stood there smiling; she threw back her head and gave a little, light laugh. "I like a gentleman to be formal!" she declared. "I assure you it s a formal offer." "I was bound I would make you say something," Daisy went on. "You see, it s not very difficult," said Winterbourne. "But I am afraid you are chaffing me." "I think not, sir," remarked Mrs. Miller very gently. "Do, then, let me give you a row," he said to the young girl. "It s quite lovely, the way you say that!" cried Daisy. "It will be still more lovely to do it." "Yes, it would be lovely!" said Daisy. But she made no movement to accompany him; she only stood there laughing. "I should think you had better find out what time it is," interposed her mother. "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. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper."<|quote|>"I am at your service,"</|quote|>said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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. 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. 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. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. She looked at him a moment and then burst into a little laugh. "I | the starlight." "I don t believe it!" said Daisy. "Well!" ejaculated the elder lady again. "You haven t spoken to me for half an hour," her daughter went on. "I have been having some very pleasant conversation with your mother," said Winterbourne. "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. "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." Daisy stood there smiling; she threw back her head and gave a little, light laugh. "I like a gentleman to be formal!" she declared. "I assure you it s a formal offer." "I was bound I would make you say something," Daisy went on. "You see, it s not very difficult," said Winterbourne. "But I am afraid you are chaffing me." "I think not, sir," remarked Mrs. Miller very gently. "Do, then, let me give you a row," he said to the young girl. "It s quite lovely, the way you say that!" cried Daisy. "It will be still more lovely to do it." "Yes, it would be lovely!" said Daisy. But she made no movement to accompany him; she only stood there laughing. "I should think you had better find out what time it is," interposed her mother. "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. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper."<|quote|>"I am at your service,"</|quote|>said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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. 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. 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 | Daisy Miller |
said Winterbourne. | No speaker | "I am at your service,"<|quote|>said Winterbourne.</|quote|>"Does mademoiselle propose to go | t think anything s proper." "I am at your service,"<|quote|>said Winterbourne.</|quote|>"Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. | not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service,"<|quote|>said Winterbourne.</|quote|>"Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a | two ladies. He had apparently just approached. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service,"<|quote|>said Winterbourne.</|quote|>"Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; | "Do, then, let me give you a row," he said to the young girl. "It s quite lovely, the way you say that!" cried Daisy. "It will be still more lovely to do it." "Yes, it would be lovely!" said Daisy. But she made no movement to accompany him; she only stood there laughing. "I should think you had better find out what time it is," interposed her mother. "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. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service,"<|quote|>said Winterbourne.</|quote|>"Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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. 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 | elder lady again. "You haven t spoken to me for half an hour," her daughter went on. "I have been having some very pleasant conversation with your mother," said Winterbourne. "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. "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." Daisy stood there smiling; she threw back her head and gave a little, light laugh. "I like a gentleman to be formal!" she declared. "I assure you it s a formal offer." "I was bound I would make you say something," Daisy went on. "You see, it s not very difficult," said Winterbourne. "But I am afraid you are chaffing me." "I think not, sir," remarked Mrs. Miller very gently. "Do, then, let me give you a row," he said to the young girl. "It s quite lovely, the way you say that!" cried Daisy. "It will be still more lovely to do it." "Yes, it would be lovely!" said Daisy. But she made no movement to accompany him; she only stood there laughing. "I should think you had better find out what time it is," interposed her mother. "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. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service,"<|quote|>said Winterbourne.</|quote|>"Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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. 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. 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 | 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. "Ah yes! in England there are beautiful castles," said Winterbourne. "But Chillon here, is very well worth seeing." "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." "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?" 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. "Mr. Winterbourne!" murmured Daisy. "Mademoiselle!" said the young man. "Don t you want to take me out in a boat?" "At present?" he asked. "Of course!" said Daisy. "Well, Annie Miller!" exclaimed her mother. "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. "I shouldn t think she d want to," said her mother. "I should think she d rather go indoors." "I m sure Mr. Winterbourne wants to take me," Daisy declared. "He s so awfully devoted!" "I will row you over to Chillon in the starlight." "I don t believe it!" said Daisy. "Well!" ejaculated the elder lady again. "You haven t spoken to me for half an hour," her daughter went on. "I have been having some very pleasant conversation with your mother," said Winterbourne. "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. "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." Daisy stood there smiling; she threw back her head and gave a little, light laugh. "I like a gentleman to be formal!" she declared. "I assure you it s a formal offer." "I was bound I would make you say something," Daisy went on. "You see, it s not very difficult," said Winterbourne. "But I am afraid you are chaffing me." "I think not, sir," remarked Mrs. Miller very gently. "Do, then, let me give you a row," he said to the young girl. "It s quite lovely, the way you say that!" cried Daisy. "It will be still more lovely to do it." "Yes, it would be lovely!" said Daisy. But she made no movement to accompany him; she only stood there laughing. "I should think you had better find out what time it is," interposed her mother. "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. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service,"<|quote|>said Winterbourne.</|quote|>"Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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. 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. 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. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. She looked at him a moment and then burst into a little laugh. "I like to | again. "You haven t spoken to me for half an hour," her daughter went on. "I have been having some very pleasant conversation with your mother," said Winterbourne. "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. "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." Daisy stood there smiling; she threw back her head and gave a little, light laugh. "I like a gentleman to be formal!" she declared. "I assure you it s a formal offer." "I was bound I would make you say something," Daisy went on. "You see, it s not very difficult," said Winterbourne. "But I am afraid you are chaffing me." "I think not, sir," remarked Mrs. Miller very gently. "Do, then, let me give you a row," he said to the young girl. "It s quite lovely, the way you say that!" cried Daisy. "It will be still more lovely to do it." "Yes, it would be lovely!" said Daisy. But she made no movement to accompany him; she only stood there laughing. "I should think you had better find out what time it is," interposed her mother. "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. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service,"<|quote|>said Winterbourne.</|quote|>"Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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. 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. 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; | Daisy Miller |
asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. | No speaker | mademoiselle propose to go alone?"<|quote|>asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller.</|quote|>"Oh, no; with this gentleman!" | your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?"<|quote|>asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller.</|quote|>"Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. The | declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?"<|quote|>asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller.</|quote|>"Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I | Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?"<|quote|>asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller.</|quote|>"Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. Daisy turned away from | he said to the young girl. "It s quite lovely, the way you say that!" cried Daisy. "It will be still more lovely to do it." "Yes, it would be lovely!" said Daisy. But she made no movement to accompany him; she only stood there laughing. "I should think you had better find out what time it is," interposed her mother. "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. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?"<|quote|>asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller.</|quote|>"Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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. 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 | me for half an hour," her daughter went on. "I have been having some very pleasant conversation with your mother," said Winterbourne. "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. "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." Daisy stood there smiling; she threw back her head and gave a little, light laugh. "I like a gentleman to be formal!" she declared. "I assure you it s a formal offer." "I was bound I would make you say something," Daisy went on. "You see, it s not very difficult," said Winterbourne. "But I am afraid you are chaffing me." "I think not, sir," remarked Mrs. Miller very gently. "Do, then, let me give you a row," he said to the young girl. "It s quite lovely, the way you say that!" cried Daisy. "It will be still more lovely to do it." "Yes, it would be lovely!" said Daisy. But she made no movement to accompany him; she only stood there laughing. "I should think you had better find out what time it is," interposed her mother. "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. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?"<|quote|>asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller.</|quote|>"Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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. 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. 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 | 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. "Ah yes! in England there are beautiful castles," said Winterbourne. "But Chillon here, is very well worth seeing." "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." "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?" 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. "Mr. Winterbourne!" murmured Daisy. "Mademoiselle!" said the young man. "Don t you want to take me out in a boat?" "At present?" he asked. "Of course!" said Daisy. "Well, Annie Miller!" exclaimed her mother. "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. "I shouldn t think she d want to," said her mother. "I should think she d rather go indoors." "I m sure Mr. Winterbourne wants to take me," Daisy declared. "He s so awfully devoted!" "I will row you over to Chillon in the starlight." "I don t believe it!" said Daisy. "Well!" ejaculated the elder lady again. "You haven t spoken to me for half an hour," her daughter went on. "I have been having some very pleasant conversation with your mother," said Winterbourne. "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. "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." Daisy stood there smiling; she threw back her head and gave a little, light laugh. "I like a gentleman to be formal!" she declared. "I assure you it s a formal offer." "I was bound I would make you say something," Daisy went on. "You see, it s not very difficult," said Winterbourne. "But I am afraid you are chaffing me." "I think not, sir," remarked Mrs. Miller very gently. "Do, then, let me give you a row," he said to the young girl. "It s quite lovely, the way you say that!" cried Daisy. "It will be still more lovely to do it." "Yes, it would be lovely!" said Daisy. But she made no movement to accompany him; she only stood there laughing. "I should think you had better find out what time it is," interposed her mother. "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. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?"<|quote|>asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller.</|quote|>"Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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. 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. 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. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. 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!" In | 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. "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." Daisy stood there smiling; she threw back her head and gave a little, light laugh. "I like a gentleman to be formal!" she declared. "I assure you it s a formal offer." "I was bound I would make you say something," Daisy went on. "You see, it s not very difficult," said Winterbourne. "But I am afraid you are chaffing me." "I think not, sir," remarked Mrs. Miller very gently. "Do, then, let me give you a row," he said to the young girl. "It s quite lovely, the way you say that!" cried Daisy. "It will be still more lovely to do it." "Yes, it would be lovely!" said Daisy. But she made no movement to accompany him; she only stood there laughing. "I should think you had better find out what time it is," interposed her mother. "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. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?"<|quote|>asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller.</|quote|>"Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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. 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. 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 | Daisy Miller |
"Oh, no; with this gentleman!" | Mrs. Miller | asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller.<|quote|>"Oh, no; with this gentleman!"</|quote|>answered Daisy s mamma. The | mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller.<|quote|>"Oh, no; with this gentleman!"</|quote|>answered Daisy s mamma. The courier looked for a moment | this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller.<|quote|>"Oh, no; with this gentleman!"</|quote|>answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss | going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller.<|quote|>"Oh, no; with this gentleman!"</|quote|>answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. Daisy turned away from Winterbourne, looking at him, smiling | girl. "It s quite lovely, the way you say that!" cried Daisy. "It will be still more lovely to do it." "Yes, it would be lovely!" said Daisy. But she made no movement to accompany him; she only stood there laughing. "I should think you had better find out what time it is," interposed her mother. "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. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller.<|quote|>"Oh, no; with this gentleman!"</|quote|>answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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. 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 | her daughter went on. "I have been having some very pleasant conversation with your mother," said Winterbourne. "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. "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." Daisy stood there smiling; she threw back her head and gave a little, light laugh. "I like a gentleman to be formal!" she declared. "I assure you it s a formal offer." "I was bound I would make you say something," Daisy went on. "You see, it s not very difficult," said Winterbourne. "But I am afraid you are chaffing me." "I think not, sir," remarked Mrs. Miller very gently. "Do, then, let me give you a row," he said to the young girl. "It s quite lovely, the way you say that!" cried Daisy. "It will be still more lovely to do it." "Yes, it would be lovely!" said Daisy. But she made no movement to accompany him; she only stood there laughing. "I should think you had better find out what time it is," interposed her mother. "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. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller.<|quote|>"Oh, no; with this gentleman!"</|quote|>answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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. 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. 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; | 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. "Ah yes! in England there are beautiful castles," said Winterbourne. "But Chillon here, is very well worth seeing." "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." "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?" 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. "Mr. Winterbourne!" murmured Daisy. "Mademoiselle!" said the young man. "Don t you want to take me out in a boat?" "At present?" he asked. "Of course!" said Daisy. "Well, Annie Miller!" exclaimed her mother. "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. "I shouldn t think she d want to," said her mother. "I should think she d rather go indoors." "I m sure Mr. Winterbourne wants to take me," Daisy declared. "He s so awfully devoted!" "I will row you over to Chillon in the starlight." "I don t believe it!" said Daisy. "Well!" ejaculated the elder lady again. "You haven t spoken to me for half an hour," her daughter went on. "I have been having some very pleasant conversation with your mother," said Winterbourne. "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. "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." Daisy stood there smiling; she threw back her head and gave a little, light laugh. "I like a gentleman to be formal!" she declared. "I assure you it s a formal offer." "I was bound I would make you say something," Daisy went on. "You see, it s not very difficult," said Winterbourne. "But I am afraid you are chaffing me." "I think not, sir," remarked Mrs. Miller very gently. "Do, then, let me give you a row," he said to the young girl. "It s quite lovely, the way you say that!" cried Daisy. "It will be still more lovely to do it." "Yes, it would be lovely!" said Daisy. But she made no movement to accompany him; she only stood there laughing. "I should think you had better find out what time it is," interposed her mother. "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. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller.<|quote|>"Oh, no; with this gentleman!"</|quote|>answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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. 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. 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. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. 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!" In the castle, after they had | shouldn t think she d want to," said her mother. "I should think she d rather go indoors." "I m sure Mr. Winterbourne wants to take me," Daisy declared. "He s so awfully devoted!" "I will row you over to Chillon in the starlight." "I don t believe it!" said Daisy. "Well!" ejaculated the elder lady again. "You haven t spoken to me for half an hour," her daughter went on. "I have been having some very pleasant conversation with your mother," said Winterbourne. "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. "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." Daisy stood there smiling; she threw back her head and gave a little, light laugh. "I like a gentleman to be formal!" she declared. "I assure you it s a formal offer." "I was bound I would make you say something," Daisy went on. "You see, it s not very difficult," said Winterbourne. "But I am afraid you are chaffing me." "I think not, sir," remarked Mrs. Miller very gently. "Do, then, let me give you a row," he said to the young girl. "It s quite lovely, the way you say that!" cried Daisy. "It will be still more lovely to do it." "Yes, it would be lovely!" said Daisy. But she made no movement to accompany him; she only stood there laughing. "I should think you had better find out what time it is," interposed her mother. "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. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller.<|quote|>"Oh, no; with this gentleman!"</|quote|>answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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. 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. 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 | Daisy Miller |
answered Daisy s mamma. The courier looked for a moment at Winterbourne--the latter thought he was smiling--and then, solemnly, with a bow, | No speaker | "Oh, no; with this gentleman!"<|quote|>answered Daisy s mamma. The courier looked for a moment at Winterbourne--the latter thought he was smiling--and then, solemnly, with a bow,</|quote|>"As mademoiselle pleases!" he said. | asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!"<|quote|>answered Daisy s mamma. The courier looked for a moment at Winterbourne--the latter thought he was smiling--and then, solemnly, with a bow,</|quote|>"As mademoiselle pleases!" he said. "Oh, I hoped you would | so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!"<|quote|>answered Daisy s mamma. The courier looked for a moment at Winterbourne--the latter thought he was smiling--and then, solemnly, with a bow,</|quote|>"As mademoiselle pleases!" he said. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. | Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!"<|quote|>answered Daisy s mamma. The courier looked for a moment at Winterbourne--the latter thought he was smiling--and then, solemnly, with a bow,</|quote|>"As mademoiselle pleases!" he said. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the | the way you say that!" cried Daisy. "It will be still more lovely to do it." "Yes, it would be lovely!" said Daisy. But she made no movement to accompany him; she only stood there laughing. "I should think you had better find out what time it is," interposed her mother. "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. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!"<|quote|>answered Daisy s mamma. The courier looked for a moment at Winterbourne--the latter thought he was smiling--and then, solemnly, with a bow,</|quote|>"As mademoiselle pleases!" he said. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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. 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. Two days afterward he went off with her to the | have been having some very pleasant conversation with your mother," said Winterbourne. "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. "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." Daisy stood there smiling; she threw back her head and gave a little, light laugh. "I like a gentleman to be formal!" she declared. "I assure you it s a formal offer." "I was bound I would make you say something," Daisy went on. "You see, it s not very difficult," said Winterbourne. "But I am afraid you are chaffing me." "I think not, sir," remarked Mrs. Miller very gently. "Do, then, let me give you a row," he said to the young girl. "It s quite lovely, the way you say that!" cried Daisy. "It will be still more lovely to do it." "Yes, it would be lovely!" said Daisy. But she made no movement to accompany him; she only stood there laughing. "I should think you had better find out what time it is," interposed her mother. "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. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!"<|quote|>answered Daisy s mamma. The courier looked for a moment at Winterbourne--the latter thought he was smiling--and then, solemnly, with a bow,</|quote|>"As mademoiselle pleases!" he said. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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. 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. 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 | 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. "Ah yes! in England there are beautiful castles," said Winterbourne. "But Chillon here, is very well worth seeing." "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." "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?" 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. "Mr. Winterbourne!" murmured Daisy. "Mademoiselle!" said the young man. "Don t you want to take me out in a boat?" "At present?" he asked. "Of course!" said Daisy. "Well, Annie Miller!" exclaimed her mother. "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. "I shouldn t think she d want to," said her mother. "I should think she d rather go indoors." "I m sure Mr. Winterbourne wants to take me," Daisy declared. "He s so awfully devoted!" "I will row you over to Chillon in the starlight." "I don t believe it!" said Daisy. "Well!" ejaculated the elder lady again. "You haven t spoken to me for half an hour," her daughter went on. "I have been having some very pleasant conversation with your mother," said Winterbourne. "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. "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." Daisy stood there smiling; she threw back her head and gave a little, light laugh. "I like a gentleman to be formal!" she declared. "I assure you it s a formal offer." "I was bound I would make you say something," Daisy went on. "You see, it s not very difficult," said Winterbourne. "But I am afraid you are chaffing me." "I think not, sir," remarked Mrs. Miller very gently. "Do, then, let me give you a row," he said to the young girl. "It s quite lovely, the way you say that!" cried Daisy. "It will be still more lovely to do it." "Yes, it would be lovely!" said Daisy. But she made no movement to accompany him; she only stood there laughing. "I should think you had better find out what time it is," interposed her mother. "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. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!"<|quote|>answered Daisy s mamma. The courier looked for a moment at Winterbourne--the latter thought he was smiling--and then, solemnly, with a bow,</|quote|>"As mademoiselle pleases!" he said. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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. 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. 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. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. 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!" 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 | "Well!" ejaculated the elder lady again. "You haven t spoken to me for half an hour," her daughter went on. "I have been having some very pleasant conversation with your mother," said Winterbourne. "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. "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." Daisy stood there smiling; she threw back her head and gave a little, light laugh. "I like a gentleman to be formal!" she declared. "I assure you it s a formal offer." "I was bound I would make you say something," Daisy went on. "You see, it s not very difficult," said Winterbourne. "But I am afraid you are chaffing me." "I think not, sir," remarked Mrs. Miller very gently. "Do, then, let me give you a row," he said to the young girl. "It s quite lovely, the way you say that!" cried Daisy. "It will be still more lovely to do it." "Yes, it would be lovely!" said Daisy. But she made no movement to accompany him; she only stood there laughing. "I should think you had better find out what time it is," interposed her mother. "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. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!"<|quote|>answered Daisy s mamma. The courier looked for a moment at Winterbourne--the latter thought he was smiling--and then, solemnly, with a bow,</|quote|>"As mademoiselle pleases!" he said. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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. 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. 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 | Daisy Miller |
he said. | No speaker | a bow, "As mademoiselle pleases!"<|quote|>he said.</|quote|>"Oh, I hoped you would | was smiling--and then, solemnly, with a bow, "As mademoiselle pleases!"<|quote|>he said.</|quote|>"Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. | s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. The courier looked for a moment at Winterbourne--the latter thought he was smiling--and then, solemnly, with a bow, "As mademoiselle pleases!"<|quote|>he said.</|quote|>"Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to | the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. The courier looked for a moment at Winterbourne--the latter thought he was smiling--and then, solemnly, with a bow, "As mademoiselle pleases!"<|quote|>he said.</|quote|>"Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I | made no movement to accompany him; she only stood there laughing. "I should think you had better find out what time it is," interposed her mother. "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. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. The courier looked for a moment at Winterbourne--the latter thought he was smiling--and then, solemnly, with a bow, "As mademoiselle pleases!"<|quote|>he said.</|quote|>"Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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. 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. Two days afterward he went off with her to the Castle of Chillon. He waited | 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. "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." Daisy stood there smiling; she threw back her head and gave a little, light laugh. "I like a gentleman to be formal!" she declared. "I assure you it s a formal offer." "I was bound I would make you say something," Daisy went on. "You see, it s not very difficult," said Winterbourne. "But I am afraid you are chaffing me." "I think not, sir," remarked Mrs. Miller very gently. "Do, then, let me give you a row," he said to the young girl. "It s quite lovely, the way you say that!" cried Daisy. "It will be still more lovely to do it." "Yes, it would be lovely!" said Daisy. But she made no movement to accompany him; she only stood there laughing. "I should think you had better find out what time it is," interposed her mother. "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. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. The courier looked for a moment at Winterbourne--the latter thought he was smiling--and then, solemnly, with a bow, "As mademoiselle pleases!"<|quote|>he said.</|quote|>"Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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. 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. 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 | 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. "Ah yes! in England there are beautiful castles," said Winterbourne. "But Chillon here, is very well worth seeing." "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." "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?" 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. "Mr. Winterbourne!" murmured Daisy. "Mademoiselle!" said the young man. "Don t you want to take me out in a boat?" "At present?" he asked. "Of course!" said Daisy. "Well, Annie Miller!" exclaimed her mother. "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. "I shouldn t think she d want to," said her mother. "I should think she d rather go indoors." "I m sure Mr. Winterbourne wants to take me," Daisy declared. "He s so awfully devoted!" "I will row you over to Chillon in the starlight." "I don t believe it!" said Daisy. "Well!" ejaculated the elder lady again. "You haven t spoken to me for half an hour," her daughter went on. "I have been having some very pleasant conversation with your mother," said Winterbourne. "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. "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." Daisy stood there smiling; she threw back her head and gave a little, light laugh. "I like a gentleman to be formal!" she declared. "I assure you it s a formal offer." "I was bound I would make you say something," Daisy went on. "You see, it s not very difficult," said Winterbourne. "But I am afraid you are chaffing me." "I think not, sir," remarked Mrs. Miller very gently. "Do, then, let me give you a row," he said to the young girl. "It s quite lovely, the way you say that!" cried Daisy. "It will be still more lovely to do it." "Yes, it would be lovely!" said Daisy. But she made no movement to accompany him; she only stood there laughing. "I should think you had better find out what time it is," interposed her mother. "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. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. The courier looked for a moment at Winterbourne--the latter thought he was smiling--and then, solemnly, with a bow, "As mademoiselle pleases!"<|quote|>he said.</|quote|>"Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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. 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. 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. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. 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!" 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 | meditations were interrupted by hearing his name very distinctly pronounced by Mrs. Miller s unprotected daughter. "Mr. Winterbourne!" murmured Daisy. "Mademoiselle!" said the young man. "Don t you want to take me out in a boat?" "At present?" he asked. "Of course!" said Daisy. "Well, Annie Miller!" exclaimed her mother. "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. "I shouldn t think she d want to," said her mother. "I should think she d rather go indoors." "I m sure Mr. Winterbourne wants to take me," Daisy declared. "He s so awfully devoted!" "I will row you over to Chillon in the starlight." "I don t believe it!" said Daisy. "Well!" ejaculated the elder lady again. "You haven t spoken to me for half an hour," her daughter went on. "I have been having some very pleasant conversation with your mother," said Winterbourne. "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. "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." Daisy stood there smiling; she threw back her head and gave a little, light laugh. "I like a gentleman to be formal!" she declared. "I assure you it s a formal offer." "I was bound I would make you say something," Daisy went on. "You see, it s not very difficult," said Winterbourne. "But I am afraid you are chaffing me." "I think not, sir," remarked Mrs. Miller very gently. "Do, then, let me give you a row," he said to the young girl. "It s quite lovely, the way you say that!" cried Daisy. "It will be still more lovely to do it." "Yes, it would be lovely!" said Daisy. But she made no movement to accompany him; she only stood there laughing. "I should think you had better find out what time it is," interposed her mother. "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. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. The courier looked for a moment at Winterbourne--the latter thought he was smiling--and then, solemnly, with a bow, "As mademoiselle pleases!"<|quote|>he said.</|quote|>"Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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. 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. 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 | Daisy Miller |
"Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" | Daisy Miller | "As mademoiselle pleases!" he said.<|quote|>"Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!"</|quote|>said Daisy. "I don t | then, solemnly, with a bow, "As mademoiselle pleases!" he said.<|quote|>"Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!"</|quote|>said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I | "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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.<|quote|>"Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!"</|quote|>said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now | "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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.<|quote|>"Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!"</|quote|>said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "Well, I hope it | movement to accompany him; she only stood there laughing. "I should think you had better find out what time it is," interposed her mother. "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. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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.<|quote|>"Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!"</|quote|>said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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. 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. Two days afterward he went off with her to the Castle of Chillon. He waited for her in the large hall of the | 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. "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." Daisy stood there smiling; she threw back her head and gave a little, light laugh. "I like a gentleman to be formal!" she declared. "I assure you it s a formal offer." "I was bound I would make you say something," Daisy went on. "You see, it s not very difficult," said Winterbourne. "But I am afraid you are chaffing me." "I think not, sir," remarked Mrs. Miller very gently. "Do, then, let me give you a row," he said to the young girl. "It s quite lovely, the way you say that!" cried Daisy. "It will be still more lovely to do it." "Yes, it would be lovely!" said Daisy. But she made no movement to accompany him; she only stood there laughing. "I should think you had better find out what time it is," interposed her mother. "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. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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.<|quote|>"Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!"</|quote|>said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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. 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. 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 | 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. "Ah yes! in England there are beautiful castles," said Winterbourne. "But Chillon here, is very well worth seeing." "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." "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?" 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. "Mr. Winterbourne!" murmured Daisy. "Mademoiselle!" said the young man. "Don t you want to take me out in a boat?" "At present?" he asked. "Of course!" said Daisy. "Well, Annie Miller!" exclaimed her mother. "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. "I shouldn t think she d want to," said her mother. "I should think she d rather go indoors." "I m sure Mr. Winterbourne wants to take me," Daisy declared. "He s so awfully devoted!" "I will row you over to Chillon in the starlight." "I don t believe it!" said Daisy. "Well!" ejaculated the elder lady again. "You haven t spoken to me for half an hour," her daughter went on. "I have been having some very pleasant conversation with your mother," said Winterbourne. "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. "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." Daisy stood there smiling; she threw back her head and gave a little, light laugh. "I like a gentleman to be formal!" she declared. "I assure you it s a formal offer." "I was bound I would make you say something," Daisy went on. "You see, it s not very difficult," said Winterbourne. "But I am afraid you are chaffing me." "I think not, sir," remarked Mrs. Miller very gently. "Do, then, let me give you a row," he said to the young girl. "It s quite lovely, the way you say that!" cried Daisy. "It will be still more lovely to do it." "Yes, it would be lovely!" said Daisy. But she made no movement to accompany him; she only stood there laughing. "I should think you had better find out what time it is," interposed her mother. "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. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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.<|quote|>"Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!"</|quote|>said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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. 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. 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. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. 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!" 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, | 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." Daisy stood there smiling; she threw back her head and gave a little, light laugh. "I like a gentleman to be formal!" she declared. "I assure you it s a formal offer." "I was bound I would make you say something," Daisy went on. "You see, it s not very difficult," said Winterbourne. "But I am afraid you are chaffing me." "I think not, sir," remarked Mrs. Miller very gently. "Do, then, let me give you a row," he said to the young girl. "It s quite lovely, the way you say that!" cried Daisy. "It will be still more lovely to do it." "Yes, it would be lovely!" said Daisy. But she made no movement to accompany him; she only stood there laughing. "I should think you had better find out what time it is," interposed her mother. "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. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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.<|quote|>"Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!"</|quote|>said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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. 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. 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 | Daisy Miller |
said Daisy. | No speaker | you would make a fuss!"<|quote|>said Daisy.</|quote|>"I don t care to | he said. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!"<|quote|>said Daisy.</|quote|>"I don t care to go now." "I myself shall | mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!"<|quote|>said Daisy.</|quote|>"I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can | in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!"<|quote|>said Daisy.</|quote|>"I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "Well, I hope it won t | laughing. "I should think you had better find out what time it is," interposed her mother. "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. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!"<|quote|>said Daisy.</|quote|>"I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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. 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. 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 | 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. "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." Daisy stood there smiling; she threw back her head and gave a little, light laugh. "I like a gentleman to be formal!" she declared. "I assure you it s a formal offer." "I was bound I would make you say something," Daisy went on. "You see, it s not very difficult," said Winterbourne. "But I am afraid you are chaffing me." "I think not, sir," remarked Mrs. Miller very gently. "Do, then, let me give you a row," he said to the young girl. "It s quite lovely, the way you say that!" cried Daisy. "It will be still more lovely to do it." "Yes, it would be lovely!" said Daisy. But she made no movement to accompany him; she only stood there laughing. "I should think you had better find out what time it is," interposed her mother. "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. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!"<|quote|>said Daisy.</|quote|>"I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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. 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. 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 | 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. "Ah yes! in England there are beautiful castles," said Winterbourne. "But Chillon here, is very well worth seeing." "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." "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?" 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. "Mr. Winterbourne!" murmured Daisy. "Mademoiselle!" said the young man. "Don t you want to take me out in a boat?" "At present?" he asked. "Of course!" said Daisy. "Well, Annie Miller!" exclaimed her mother. "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. "I shouldn t think she d want to," said her mother. "I should think she d rather go indoors." "I m sure Mr. Winterbourne wants to take me," Daisy declared. "He s so awfully devoted!" "I will row you over to Chillon in the starlight." "I don t believe it!" said Daisy. "Well!" ejaculated the elder lady again. "You haven t spoken to me for half an hour," her daughter went on. "I have been having some very pleasant conversation with your mother," said Winterbourne. "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. "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." Daisy stood there smiling; she threw back her head and gave a little, light laugh. "I like a gentleman to be formal!" she declared. "I assure you it s a formal offer." "I was bound I would make you say something," Daisy went on. "You see, it s not very difficult," said Winterbourne. "But I am afraid you are chaffing me." "I think not, sir," remarked Mrs. Miller very gently. "Do, then, let me give you a row," he said to the young girl. "It s quite lovely, the way you say that!" cried Daisy. "It will be still more lovely to do it." "Yes, it would be lovely!" said Daisy. But she made no movement to accompany him; she only stood there laughing. "I should think you had better find out what time it is," interposed her mother. "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. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!"<|quote|>said Daisy.</|quote|>"I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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. 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. 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. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. 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!" 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 | me," Daisy declared. "He s so awfully devoted!" "I will row you over to Chillon in the starlight." "I don t believe it!" said Daisy. "Well!" ejaculated the elder lady again. "You haven t spoken to me for half an hour," her daughter went on. "I have been having some very pleasant conversation with your mother," said Winterbourne. "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. "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." Daisy stood there smiling; she threw back her head and gave a little, light laugh. "I like a gentleman to be formal!" she declared. "I assure you it s a formal offer." "I was bound I would make you say something," Daisy went on. "You see, it s not very difficult," said Winterbourne. "But I am afraid you are chaffing me." "I think not, sir," remarked Mrs. Miller very gently. "Do, then, let me give you a row," he said to the young girl. "It s quite lovely, the way you say that!" cried Daisy. "It will be still more lovely to do it." "Yes, it would be lovely!" said Daisy. But she made no movement to accompany him; she only stood there laughing. "I should think you had better find out what time it is," interposed her mother. "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. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!"<|quote|>said Daisy.</|quote|>"I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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. 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. 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, | Daisy Miller |
"I don t care to go now." | Daisy Miller | make a fuss!" said Daisy.<|quote|>"I don t care to go now."</|quote|>"I myself shall make a | "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy.<|quote|>"I don t care to go now."</|quote|>"I myself shall make a fuss if you don t | to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy.<|quote|>"I don t care to go now."</|quote|>"I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. Daisy turned away | boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy.<|quote|>"I don t care to go now."</|quote|>"I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "Well, I hope it won t keep you awake!" she said very smartly; | should think you had better find out what time it is," interposed her mother. "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. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy.<|quote|>"I don t care to go now."</|quote|>"I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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. 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. 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, | 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. "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." Daisy stood there smiling; she threw back her head and gave a little, light laugh. "I like a gentleman to be formal!" she declared. "I assure you it s a formal offer." "I was bound I would make you say something," Daisy went on. "You see, it s not very difficult," said Winterbourne. "But I am afraid you are chaffing me." "I think not, sir," remarked Mrs. Miller very gently. "Do, then, let me give you a row," he said to the young girl. "It s quite lovely, the way you say that!" cried Daisy. "It will be still more lovely to do it." "Yes, it would be lovely!" said Daisy. But she made no movement to accompany him; she only stood there laughing. "I should think you had better find out what time it is," interposed her mother. "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. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy.<|quote|>"I don t care to go now."</|quote|>"I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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. 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. 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 | 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. "Ah yes! in England there are beautiful castles," said Winterbourne. "But Chillon here, is very well worth seeing." "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." "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?" 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. "Mr. Winterbourne!" murmured Daisy. "Mademoiselle!" said the young man. "Don t you want to take me out in a boat?" "At present?" he asked. "Of course!" said Daisy. "Well, Annie Miller!" exclaimed her mother. "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. "I shouldn t think she d want to," said her mother. "I should think she d rather go indoors." "I m sure Mr. Winterbourne wants to take me," Daisy declared. "He s so awfully devoted!" "I will row you over to Chillon in the starlight." "I don t believe it!" said Daisy. "Well!" ejaculated the elder lady again. "You haven t spoken to me for half an hour," her daughter went on. "I have been having some very pleasant conversation with your mother," said Winterbourne. "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. "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." Daisy stood there smiling; she threw back her head and gave a little, light laugh. "I like a gentleman to be formal!" she declared. "I assure you it s a formal offer." "I was bound I would make you say something," Daisy went on. "You see, it s not very difficult," said Winterbourne. "But I am afraid you are chaffing me." "I think not, sir," remarked Mrs. Miller very gently. "Do, then, let me give you a row," he said to the young girl. "It s quite lovely, the way you say that!" cried Daisy. "It will be still more lovely to do it." "Yes, it would be lovely!" said Daisy. But she made no movement to accompany him; she only stood there laughing. "I should think you had better find out what time it is," interposed her mother. "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. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy.<|quote|>"I don t care to go now."</|quote|>"I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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. 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. 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. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. 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!" 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 | haven t spoken to me for half an hour," her daughter went on. "I have been having some very pleasant conversation with your mother," said Winterbourne. "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. "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." Daisy stood there smiling; she threw back her head and gave a little, light laugh. "I like a gentleman to be formal!" she declared. "I assure you it s a formal offer." "I was bound I would make you say something," Daisy went on. "You see, it s not very difficult," said Winterbourne. "But I am afraid you are chaffing me." "I think not, sir," remarked Mrs. Miller very gently. "Do, then, let me give you a row," he said to the young girl. "It s quite lovely, the way you say that!" cried Daisy. "It will be still more lovely to do it." "Yes, it would be lovely!" said Daisy. But she made no movement to accompany him; she only stood there laughing. "I should think you had better find out what time it is," interposed her mother. "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. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy.<|quote|>"I don t care to go now."</|quote|>"I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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. 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. 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 | Daisy Miller |
"I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," | Winterbourne | t care to go now."<|quote|>"I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go,"</|quote|>said Winterbourne. "That s all | fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now."<|quote|>"I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go,"</|quote|>said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And | Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now."<|quote|>"I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go,"</|quote|>said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. Daisy turned away from Winterbourne, looking at him, smiling and fanning herself. "Good night," | Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now."<|quote|>"I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go,"</|quote|>said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "Well, I hope it won t keep you awake!" she said very smartly; and, under the escort of the privileged Eugenio, the two ladies | what time it is," interposed her mother. "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. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now."<|quote|>"I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go,"</|quote|>said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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. 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. 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 | smile, her pretty eyes were gleaming, she was swinging her great fan about. No; it s impossible to be prettier than that, thought Winterbourne. "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." Daisy stood there smiling; she threw back her head and gave a little, light laugh. "I like a gentleman to be formal!" she declared. "I assure you it s a formal offer." "I was bound I would make you say something," Daisy went on. "You see, it s not very difficult," said Winterbourne. "But I am afraid you are chaffing me." "I think not, sir," remarked Mrs. Miller very gently. "Do, then, let me give you a row," he said to the young girl. "It s quite lovely, the way you say that!" cried Daisy. "It will be still more lovely to do it." "Yes, it would be lovely!" said Daisy. But she made no movement to accompany him; she only stood there laughing. "I should think you had better find out what time it is," interposed her mother. "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. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now."<|quote|>"I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go,"</|quote|>said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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. 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. 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 | air of increasing confidence. "Of course we only want to see the principal ones. We visited several in England," she presently added. "Ah yes! in England there are beautiful castles," said Winterbourne. "But Chillon here, is very well worth seeing." "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." "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?" 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. "Mr. Winterbourne!" murmured Daisy. "Mademoiselle!" said the young man. "Don t you want to take me out in a boat?" "At present?" he asked. "Of course!" said Daisy. "Well, Annie Miller!" exclaimed her mother. "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. "I shouldn t think she d want to," said her mother. "I should think she d rather go indoors." "I m sure Mr. Winterbourne wants to take me," Daisy declared. "He s so awfully devoted!" "I will row you over to Chillon in the starlight." "I don t believe it!" said Daisy. "Well!" ejaculated the elder lady again. "You haven t spoken to me for half an hour," her daughter went on. "I have been having some very pleasant conversation with your mother," said Winterbourne. "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. "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." Daisy stood there smiling; she threw back her head and gave a little, light laugh. "I like a gentleman to be formal!" she declared. "I assure you it s a formal offer." "I was bound I would make you say something," Daisy went on. "You see, it s not very difficult," said Winterbourne. "But I am afraid you are chaffing me." "I think not, sir," remarked Mrs. Miller very gently. "Do, then, let me give you a row," he said to the young girl. "It s quite lovely, the way you say that!" cried Daisy. "It will be still more lovely to do it." "Yes, it would be lovely!" said Daisy. But she made no movement to accompany him; she only stood there laughing. "I should think you had better find out what time it is," interposed her mother. "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. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now."<|quote|>"I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go,"</|quote|>said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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. 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. 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. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. 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!" 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 | will go and select one of them." Daisy stood there smiling; she threw back her head and gave a little, light laugh. "I like a gentleman to be formal!" she declared. "I assure you it s a formal offer." "I was bound I would make you say something," Daisy went on. "You see, it s not very difficult," said Winterbourne. "But I am afraid you are chaffing me." "I think not, sir," remarked Mrs. Miller very gently. "Do, then, let me give you a row," he said to the young girl. "It s quite lovely, the way you say that!" cried Daisy. "It will be still more lovely to do it." "Yes, it would be lovely!" said Daisy. But she made no movement to accompany him; she only stood there laughing. "I should think you had better find out what time it is," interposed her mother. "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. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now."<|quote|>"I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go,"</|quote|>said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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. 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. 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 | Daisy Miller |
said Winterbourne. | No speaker | if you don t go,"<|quote|>said Winterbourne.</|quote|>"That s all I want--a | myself shall make a fuss if you don t go,"<|quote|>said Winterbourne.</|quote|>"That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young | courier looked for a moment at Winterbourne--the latter thought he was smiling--and then, solemnly, with a bow, "As mademoiselle pleases!" he said. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go,"<|quote|>said Winterbourne.</|quote|>"That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. Daisy turned away from Winterbourne, looking at him, smiling and fanning herself. "Good night," she said; | but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go,"<|quote|>said Winterbourne.</|quote|>"That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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 | 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. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go,"<|quote|>said Winterbourne.</|quote|>"That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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. 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. 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 | fan about. No; it s impossible to be prettier than that, thought Winterbourne. "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." Daisy stood there smiling; she threw back her head and gave a little, light laugh. "I like a gentleman to be formal!" she declared. "I assure you it s a formal offer." "I was bound I would make you say something," Daisy went on. "You see, it s not very difficult," said Winterbourne. "But I am afraid you are chaffing me." "I think not, sir," remarked Mrs. Miller very gently. "Do, then, let me give you a row," he said to the young girl. "It s quite lovely, the way you say that!" cried Daisy. "It will be still more lovely to do it." "Yes, it would be lovely!" said Daisy. But she made no movement to accompany him; she only stood there laughing. "I should think you had better find out what time it is," interposed her mother. "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. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go,"<|quote|>said Winterbourne.</|quote|>"That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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. 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. 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 | the principal ones. We visited several in England," she presently added. "Ah yes! in England there are beautiful castles," said Winterbourne. "But Chillon here, is very well worth seeing." "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." "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?" 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. "Mr. Winterbourne!" murmured Daisy. "Mademoiselle!" said the young man. "Don t you want to take me out in a boat?" "At present?" he asked. "Of course!" said Daisy. "Well, Annie Miller!" exclaimed her mother. "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. "I shouldn t think she d want to," said her mother. "I should think she d rather go indoors." "I m sure Mr. Winterbourne wants to take me," Daisy declared. "He s so awfully devoted!" "I will row you over to Chillon in the starlight." "I don t believe it!" said Daisy. "Well!" ejaculated the elder lady again. "You haven t spoken to me for half an hour," her daughter went on. "I have been having some very pleasant conversation with your mother," said Winterbourne. "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. "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." Daisy stood there smiling; she threw back her head and gave a little, light laugh. "I like a gentleman to be formal!" she declared. "I assure you it s a formal offer." "I was bound I would make you say something," Daisy went on. "You see, it s not very difficult," said Winterbourne. "But I am afraid you are chaffing me." "I think not, sir," remarked Mrs. Miller very gently. "Do, then, let me give you a row," he said to the young girl. "It s quite lovely, the way you say that!" cried Daisy. "It will be still more lovely to do it." "Yes, it would be lovely!" said Daisy. But she made no movement to accompany him; she only stood there laughing. "I should think you had better find out what time it is," interposed her mother. "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. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go,"<|quote|>said Winterbourne.</|quote|>"That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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. 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. 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. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. 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!" 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 | to be prettier than that, thought Winterbourne. "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." Daisy stood there smiling; she threw back her head and gave a little, light laugh. "I like a gentleman to be formal!" she declared. "I assure you it s a formal offer." "I was bound I would make you say something," Daisy went on. "You see, it s not very difficult," said Winterbourne. "But I am afraid you are chaffing me." "I think not, sir," remarked Mrs. Miller very gently. "Do, then, let me give you a row," he said to the young girl. "It s quite lovely, the way you say that!" cried Daisy. "It will be still more lovely to do it." "Yes, it would be lovely!" said Daisy. But she made no movement to accompany him; she only stood there laughing. "I should think you had better find out what time it is," interposed her mother. "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. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go,"<|quote|>said Winterbourne.</|quote|>"That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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. 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. 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 | Daisy Miller |
"That s all I want--a little fuss!" | Daisy Miller | don t go," said Winterbourne.<|quote|>"That s all I want--a little fuss!"</|quote|>And the young girl began | make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne.<|quote|>"That s all I want--a little fuss!"</|quote|>And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph | for a moment at Winterbourne--the latter thought he was smiling--and then, solemnly, with a bow, "As mademoiselle pleases!" he said. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne.<|quote|>"That s all I want--a little fuss!"</|quote|>And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. Daisy turned away from Winterbourne, looking at him, smiling and fanning herself. "Good night," she said; "I hope you are disappointed, or disgusted, | said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne.<|quote|>"That s all I want--a little fuss!"</|quote|>And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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. Winterbourne stood looking after them; | 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. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne.<|quote|>"That s all I want--a little fuss!"</|quote|>And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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. 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. 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 | No; it s impossible to be prettier than that, thought Winterbourne. "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." Daisy stood there smiling; she threw back her head and gave a little, light laugh. "I like a gentleman to be formal!" she declared. "I assure you it s a formal offer." "I was bound I would make you say something," Daisy went on. "You see, it s not very difficult," said Winterbourne. "But I am afraid you are chaffing me." "I think not, sir," remarked Mrs. Miller very gently. "Do, then, let me give you a row," he said to the young girl. "It s quite lovely, the way you say that!" cried Daisy. "It will be still more lovely to do it." "Yes, it would be lovely!" said Daisy. But she made no movement to accompany him; she only stood there laughing. "I should think you had better find out what time it is," interposed her mother. "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. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne.<|quote|>"That s all I want--a little fuss!"</|quote|>And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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. 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. 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 | ones. We visited several in England," she presently added. "Ah yes! in England there are beautiful castles," said Winterbourne. "But Chillon here, is very well worth seeing." "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." "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?" 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. "Mr. Winterbourne!" murmured Daisy. "Mademoiselle!" said the young man. "Don t you want to take me out in a boat?" "At present?" he asked. "Of course!" said Daisy. "Well, Annie Miller!" exclaimed her mother. "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. "I shouldn t think she d want to," said her mother. "I should think she d rather go indoors." "I m sure Mr. Winterbourne wants to take me," Daisy declared. "He s so awfully devoted!" "I will row you over to Chillon in the starlight." "I don t believe it!" said Daisy. "Well!" ejaculated the elder lady again. "You haven t spoken to me for half an hour," her daughter went on. "I have been having some very pleasant conversation with your mother," said Winterbourne. "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. "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." Daisy stood there smiling; she threw back her head and gave a little, light laugh. "I like a gentleman to be formal!" she declared. "I assure you it s a formal offer." "I was bound I would make you say something," Daisy went on. "You see, it s not very difficult," said Winterbourne. "But I am afraid you are chaffing me." "I think not, sir," remarked Mrs. Miller very gently. "Do, then, let me give you a row," he said to the young girl. "It s quite lovely, the way you say that!" cried Daisy. "It will be still more lovely to do it." "Yes, it would be lovely!" said Daisy. But she made no movement to accompany him; she only stood there laughing. "I should think you had better find out what time it is," interposed her mother. "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. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne.<|quote|>"That s all I want--a little fuss!"</|quote|>And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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. 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. 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. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. 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!" 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 | one of them." Daisy stood there smiling; she threw back her head and gave a little, light laugh. "I like a gentleman to be formal!" she declared. "I assure you it s a formal offer." "I was bound I would make you say something," Daisy went on. "You see, it s not very difficult," said Winterbourne. "But I am afraid you are chaffing me." "I think not, sir," remarked Mrs. Miller very gently. "Do, then, let me give you a row," he said to the young girl. "It s quite lovely, the way you say that!" cried Daisy. "It will be still more lovely to do it." "Yes, it would be lovely!" said Daisy. But she made no movement to accompany him; she only stood there laughing. "I should think you had better find out what time it is," interposed her mother. "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. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne.<|quote|>"That s all I want--a little fuss!"</|quote|>And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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. 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. 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, | Daisy Miller |
And the young girl began to laugh again. | No speaker | all I want--a little fuss!"<|quote|>And the young girl began to laugh again.</|quote|>"Mr. Randolph has gone to | go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!"<|quote|>And the young girl began to laugh again.</|quote|>"Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. | he was smiling--and then, solemnly, with a bow, "As mademoiselle pleases!" he said. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!"<|quote|>And the young girl began to laugh again.</|quote|>"Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the | think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!"<|quote|>And the young girl began to laugh again.</|quote|>"Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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. Winterbourne stood looking after them; he was indeed puzzled. He lingered beside the | 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. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!"<|quote|>And the young girl began to laugh again.</|quote|>"Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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. 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. 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 | than that, thought Winterbourne. "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." Daisy stood there smiling; she threw back her head and gave a little, light laugh. "I like a gentleman to be formal!" she declared. "I assure you it s a formal offer." "I was bound I would make you say something," Daisy went on. "You see, it s not very difficult," said Winterbourne. "But I am afraid you are chaffing me." "I think not, sir," remarked Mrs. Miller very gently. "Do, then, let me give you a row," he said to the young girl. "It s quite lovely, the way you say that!" cried Daisy. "It will be still more lovely to do it." "Yes, it would be lovely!" said Daisy. But she made no movement to accompany him; she only stood there laughing. "I should think you had better find out what time it is," interposed her mother. "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. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!"<|quote|>And the young girl began to laugh again.</|quote|>"Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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. 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. 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 | presently added. "Ah yes! in England there are beautiful castles," said Winterbourne. "But Chillon here, is very well worth seeing." "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." "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?" 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. "Mr. Winterbourne!" murmured Daisy. "Mademoiselle!" said the young man. "Don t you want to take me out in a boat?" "At present?" he asked. "Of course!" said Daisy. "Well, Annie Miller!" exclaimed her mother. "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. "I shouldn t think she d want to," said her mother. "I should think she d rather go indoors." "I m sure Mr. Winterbourne wants to take me," Daisy declared. "He s so awfully devoted!" "I will row you over to Chillon in the starlight." "I don t believe it!" said Daisy. "Well!" ejaculated the elder lady again. "You haven t spoken to me for half an hour," her daughter went on. "I have been having some very pleasant conversation with your mother," said Winterbourne. "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. "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." Daisy stood there smiling; she threw back her head and gave a little, light laugh. "I like a gentleman to be formal!" she declared. "I assure you it s a formal offer." "I was bound I would make you say something," Daisy went on. "You see, it s not very difficult," said Winterbourne. "But I am afraid you are chaffing me." "I think not, sir," remarked Mrs. Miller very gently. "Do, then, let me give you a row," he said to the young girl. "It s quite lovely, the way you say that!" cried Daisy. "It will be still more lovely to do it." "Yes, it would be lovely!" said Daisy. But she made no movement to accompany him; she only stood there laughing. "I should think you had better find out what time it is," interposed her mother. "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. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!"<|quote|>And the young girl began to laugh again.</|quote|>"Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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. 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. 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. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. 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!" 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 | will row you over to Chillon in the starlight." "I don t believe it!" said Daisy. "Well!" ejaculated the elder lady again. "You haven t spoken to me for half an hour," her daughter went on. "I have been having some very pleasant conversation with your mother," said Winterbourne. "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. "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." Daisy stood there smiling; she threw back her head and gave a little, light laugh. "I like a gentleman to be formal!" she declared. "I assure you it s a formal offer." "I was bound I would make you say something," Daisy went on. "You see, it s not very difficult," said Winterbourne. "But I am afraid you are chaffing me." "I think not, sir," remarked Mrs. Miller very gently. "Do, then, let me give you a row," he said to the young girl. "It s quite lovely, the way you say that!" cried Daisy. "It will be still more lovely to do it." "Yes, it would be lovely!" said Daisy. But she made no movement to accompany him; she only stood there laughing. "I should think you had better find out what time it is," interposed her mother. "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. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!"<|quote|>And the young girl began to laugh again.</|quote|>"Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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. 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. 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; | Daisy Miller |
the courier announced frigidly. | No speaker | Randolph has gone to bed!"<|quote|>the courier announced frigidly.</|quote|>"Oh, Daisy; now we can | began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!"<|quote|>the courier announced frigidly.</|quote|>"Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. Daisy | I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!"<|quote|>the courier announced frigidly.</|quote|>"Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "Well, | am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!"<|quote|>the courier announced frigidly.</|quote|>"Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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. Winterbourne stood looking after them; he was indeed puzzled. He lingered beside the lake for a quarter of an hour, turning over the | in attendance upon the two ladies. He had apparently just approached. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!"<|quote|>the courier announced frigidly.</|quote|>"Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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. 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. 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 | 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." Daisy stood there smiling; she threw back her head and gave a little, light laugh. "I like a gentleman to be formal!" she declared. "I assure you it s a formal offer." "I was bound I would make you say something," Daisy went on. "You see, it s not very difficult," said Winterbourne. "But I am afraid you are chaffing me." "I think not, sir," remarked Mrs. Miller very gently. "Do, then, let me give you a row," he said to the young girl. "It s quite lovely, the way you say that!" cried Daisy. "It will be still more lovely to do it." "Yes, it would be lovely!" said Daisy. But she made no movement to accompany him; she only stood there laughing. "I should think you had better find out what time it is," interposed her mother. "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. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!"<|quote|>the courier announced frigidly.</|quote|>"Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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. 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. 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 | here, is very well worth seeing." "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." "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?" 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. "Mr. Winterbourne!" murmured Daisy. "Mademoiselle!" said the young man. "Don t you want to take me out in a boat?" "At present?" he asked. "Of course!" said Daisy. "Well, Annie Miller!" exclaimed her mother. "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. "I shouldn t think she d want to," said her mother. "I should think she d rather go indoors." "I m sure Mr. Winterbourne wants to take me," Daisy declared. "He s so awfully devoted!" "I will row you over to Chillon in the starlight." "I don t believe it!" said Daisy. "Well!" ejaculated the elder lady again. "You haven t spoken to me for half an hour," her daughter went on. "I have been having some very pleasant conversation with your mother," said Winterbourne. "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. "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." Daisy stood there smiling; she threw back her head and gave a little, light laugh. "I like a gentleman to be formal!" she declared. "I assure you it s a formal offer." "I was bound I would make you say something," Daisy went on. "You see, it s not very difficult," said Winterbourne. "But I am afraid you are chaffing me." "I think not, sir," remarked Mrs. Miller very gently. "Do, then, let me give you a row," he said to the young girl. "It s quite lovely, the way you say that!" cried Daisy. "It will be still more lovely to do it." "Yes, it would be lovely!" said Daisy. But she made no movement to accompany him; she only stood there laughing. "I should think you had better find out what time it is," interposed her mother. "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. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!"<|quote|>the courier announced frigidly.</|quote|>"Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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. 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. 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. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. 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!" 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 | a skiff freighted with a fresh and beautiful young girl. "I shouldn t think she d want to," said her mother. "I should think she d rather go indoors." "I m sure Mr. Winterbourne wants to take me," Daisy declared. "He s so awfully devoted!" "I will row you over to Chillon in the starlight." "I don t believe it!" said Daisy. "Well!" ejaculated the elder lady again. "You haven t spoken to me for half an hour," her daughter went on. "I have been having some very pleasant conversation with your mother," said Winterbourne. "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. "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." Daisy stood there smiling; she threw back her head and gave a little, light laugh. "I like a gentleman to be formal!" she declared. "I assure you it s a formal offer." "I was bound I would make you say something," Daisy went on. "You see, it s not very difficult," said Winterbourne. "But I am afraid you are chaffing me." "I think not, sir," remarked Mrs. Miller very gently. "Do, then, let me give you a row," he said to the young girl. "It s quite lovely, the way you say that!" cried Daisy. "It will be still more lovely to do it." "Yes, it would be lovely!" said Daisy. But she made no movement to accompany him; she only stood there laughing. "I should think you had better find out what time it is," interposed her mother. "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. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!"<|quote|>the courier announced frigidly.</|quote|>"Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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. 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. 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 | Daisy Miller |
"Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" | Mrs. Miller | bed!" the courier announced frigidly.<|quote|>"Oh, Daisy; now we can go!"</|quote|>said Mrs. Miller. Daisy turned | "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly.<|quote|>"Oh, Daisy; now we can go!"</|quote|>said Mrs. Miller. Daisy turned away from Winterbourne, looking at | make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly.<|quote|>"Oh, Daisy; now we can go!"</|quote|>said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "Well, I hope it won t keep | said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly.<|quote|>"Oh, Daisy; now we can go!"</|quote|>said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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. 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 | two ladies. He had apparently just approached. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly.<|quote|>"Oh, Daisy; now we can go!"</|quote|>said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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. 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. 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 | 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." Daisy stood there smiling; she threw back her head and gave a little, light laugh. "I like a gentleman to be formal!" she declared. "I assure you it s a formal offer." "I was bound I would make you say something," Daisy went on. "You see, it s not very difficult," said Winterbourne. "But I am afraid you are chaffing me." "I think not, sir," remarked Mrs. Miller very gently. "Do, then, let me give you a row," he said to the young girl. "It s quite lovely, the way you say that!" cried Daisy. "It will be still more lovely to do it." "Yes, it would be lovely!" said Daisy. But she made no movement to accompany him; she only stood there laughing. "I should think you had better find out what time it is," interposed her mother. "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. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly.<|quote|>"Oh, Daisy; now we can go!"</|quote|>said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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. 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. 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, | worth seeing." "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." "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?" 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. "Mr. Winterbourne!" murmured Daisy. "Mademoiselle!" said the young man. "Don t you want to take me out in a boat?" "At present?" he asked. "Of course!" said Daisy. "Well, Annie Miller!" exclaimed her mother. "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. "I shouldn t think she d want to," said her mother. "I should think she d rather go indoors." "I m sure Mr. Winterbourne wants to take me," Daisy declared. "He s so awfully devoted!" "I will row you over to Chillon in the starlight." "I don t believe it!" said Daisy. "Well!" ejaculated the elder lady again. "You haven t spoken to me for half an hour," her daughter went on. "I have been having some very pleasant conversation with your mother," said Winterbourne. "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. "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." Daisy stood there smiling; she threw back her head and gave a little, light laugh. "I like a gentleman to be formal!" she declared. "I assure you it s a formal offer." "I was bound I would make you say something," Daisy went on. "You see, it s not very difficult," said Winterbourne. "But I am afraid you are chaffing me." "I think not, sir," remarked Mrs. Miller very gently. "Do, then, let me give you a row," he said to the young girl. "It s quite lovely, the way you say that!" cried Daisy. "It will be still more lovely to do it." "Yes, it would be lovely!" said Daisy. But she made no movement to accompany him; she only stood there laughing. "I should think you had better find out what time it is," interposed her mother. "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. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly.<|quote|>"Oh, Daisy; now we can go!"</|quote|>said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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. 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. 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. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. 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!" 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 | the lake. "If you will do me the honor to accept my arm, we will go and select one of them." Daisy stood there smiling; she threw back her head and gave a little, light laugh. "I like a gentleman to be formal!" she declared. "I assure you it s a formal offer." "I was bound I would make you say something," Daisy went on. "You see, it s not very difficult," said Winterbourne. "But I am afraid you are chaffing me." "I think not, sir," remarked Mrs. Miller very gently. "Do, then, let me give you a row," he said to the young girl. "It s quite lovely, the way you say that!" cried Daisy. "It will be still more lovely to do it." "Yes, it would be lovely!" said Daisy. But she made no movement to accompany him; she only stood there laughing. "I should think you had better find out what time it is," interposed her mother. "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. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly.<|quote|>"Oh, Daisy; now we can go!"</|quote|>said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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. 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. 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 | Daisy Miller |
said Mrs. Miller. Daisy turned away from Winterbourne, looking at him, smiling and fanning herself. | No speaker | Daisy; now we can go!"<|quote|>said Mrs. Miller. Daisy turned away from Winterbourne, looking at him, smiling and fanning herself.</|quote|>"Good night," she said; "I | the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!"<|quote|>said Mrs. Miller. Daisy turned away from Winterbourne, looking at him, smiling and fanning herself.</|quote|>"Good night," she said; "I hope you are disappointed, or | don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!"<|quote|>said Mrs. Miller. Daisy turned away from Winterbourne, looking at him, smiling and fanning herself.</|quote|>"Good night," she said; "I hope you are disappointed, or disgusted, or something!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "Well, I hope it won t keep you awake!" she said very smartly; and, under the escort of the privileged Eugenio, the | go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!"<|quote|>said Mrs. Miller. Daisy turned away from Winterbourne, looking at him, smiling and fanning herself.</|quote|>"Good night," she said; "I hope you are disappointed, or disgusted, or something!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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. 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 | approached. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!"<|quote|>said Mrs. Miller. Daisy turned away from Winterbourne, looking at him, smiling and fanning herself.</|quote|>"Good night," she said; "I hope you are disappointed, or disgusted, or something!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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. 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. 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; | the garden to the lake. "If you will do me the honor to accept my arm, we will go and select one of them." Daisy stood there smiling; she threw back her head and gave a little, light laugh. "I like a gentleman to be formal!" she declared. "I assure you it s a formal offer." "I was bound I would make you say something," Daisy went on. "You see, it s not very difficult," said Winterbourne. "But I am afraid you are chaffing me." "I think not, sir," remarked Mrs. Miller very gently. "Do, then, let me give you a row," he said to the young girl. "It s quite lovely, the way you say that!" cried Daisy. "It will be still more lovely to do it." "Yes, it would be lovely!" said Daisy. But she made no movement to accompany him; she only stood there laughing. "I should think you had better find out what time it is," interposed her mother. "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. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!"<|quote|>said Mrs. Miller. Daisy turned away from Winterbourne, looking at him, smiling and fanning herself.</|quote|>"Good night," she said; "I hope you are disappointed, or disgusted, or something!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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. 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. 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 | 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." "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?" 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. "Mr. Winterbourne!" murmured Daisy. "Mademoiselle!" said the young man. "Don t you want to take me out in a boat?" "At present?" he asked. "Of course!" said Daisy. "Well, Annie Miller!" exclaimed her mother. "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. "I shouldn t think she d want to," said her mother. "I should think she d rather go indoors." "I m sure Mr. Winterbourne wants to take me," Daisy declared. "He s so awfully devoted!" "I will row you over to Chillon in the starlight." "I don t believe it!" said Daisy. "Well!" ejaculated the elder lady again. "You haven t spoken to me for half an hour," her daughter went on. "I have been having some very pleasant conversation with your mother," said Winterbourne. "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. "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." Daisy stood there smiling; she threw back her head and gave a little, light laugh. "I like a gentleman to be formal!" she declared. "I assure you it s a formal offer." "I was bound I would make you say something," Daisy went on. "You see, it s not very difficult," said Winterbourne. "But I am afraid you are chaffing me." "I think not, sir," remarked Mrs. Miller very gently. "Do, then, let me give you a row," he said to the young girl. "It s quite lovely, the way you say that!" cried Daisy. "It will be still more lovely to do it." "Yes, it would be lovely!" said Daisy. But she made no movement to accompany him; she only stood there laughing. "I should think you had better find out what time it is," interposed her mother. "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. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!"<|quote|>said Mrs. Miller. Daisy turned away from Winterbourne, looking at him, smiling and fanning herself.</|quote|>"Good night," she said; "I hope you are disappointed, or disgusted, or something!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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. 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. 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. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. 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!" 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 | 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. "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." Daisy stood there smiling; she threw back her head and gave a little, light laugh. "I like a gentleman to be formal!" she declared. "I assure you it s a formal offer." "I was bound I would make you say something," Daisy went on. "You see, it s not very difficult," said Winterbourne. "But I am afraid you are chaffing me." "I think not, sir," remarked Mrs. Miller very gently. "Do, then, let me give you a row," he said to the young girl. "It s quite lovely, the way you say that!" cried Daisy. "It will be still more lovely to do it." "Yes, it would be lovely!" said Daisy. But she made no movement to accompany him; she only stood there laughing. "I should think you had better find out what time it is," interposed her mother. "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. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!"<|quote|>said Mrs. Miller. Daisy turned away from Winterbourne, looking at him, smiling and fanning herself.</|quote|>"Good night," she said; "I hope you are disappointed, or disgusted, or something!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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. 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. 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 | Daisy Miller |
"Good night," | Daisy Miller | him, smiling and fanning herself.<|quote|>"Good night,"</|quote|>she said; "I hope you | away from Winterbourne, looking at him, smiling and fanning herself.<|quote|>"Good night,"</|quote|>she said; "I hope you are disappointed, or disgusted, or | t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. Daisy turned away from Winterbourne, looking at him, smiling and fanning herself.<|quote|>"Good night,"</|quote|>she said; "I hope you are disappointed, or disgusted, or something!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "Well, I hope it won t keep you awake!" she said very smartly; and, under the escort of the privileged Eugenio, the two ladies | mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. Daisy turned away from Winterbourne, looking at him, smiling and fanning herself.<|quote|>"Good night,"</|quote|>she said; "I hope you are disappointed, or disgusted, or something!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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. 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 | eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. Daisy turned away from Winterbourne, looking at him, smiling and fanning herself.<|quote|>"Good night,"</|quote|>she said; "I hope you are disappointed, or disgusted, or something!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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. 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. 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 | arm, we will go and select one of them." Daisy stood there smiling; she threw back her head and gave a little, light laugh. "I like a gentleman to be formal!" she declared. "I assure you it s a formal offer." "I was bound I would make you say something," Daisy went on. "You see, it s not very difficult," said Winterbourne. "But I am afraid you are chaffing me." "I think not, sir," remarked Mrs. Miller very gently. "Do, then, let me give you a row," he said to the young girl. "It s quite lovely, the way you say that!" cried Daisy. "It will be still more lovely to do it." "Yes, it would be lovely!" said Daisy. But she made no movement to accompany him; she only stood there laughing. "I should think you had better find out what time it is," interposed her mother. "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. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. Daisy turned away from Winterbourne, looking at him, smiling and fanning herself.<|quote|>"Good night,"</|quote|>she said; "I hope you are disappointed, or disgusted, or something!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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. 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. 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 | magnitude of the enterprise. "It seems as if there was nothing she wouldn t undertake." "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?" 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. "Mr. Winterbourne!" murmured Daisy. "Mademoiselle!" said the young man. "Don t you want to take me out in a boat?" "At present?" he asked. "Of course!" said Daisy. "Well, Annie Miller!" exclaimed her mother. "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. "I shouldn t think she d want to," said her mother. "I should think she d rather go indoors." "I m sure Mr. Winterbourne wants to take me," Daisy declared. "He s so awfully devoted!" "I will row you over to Chillon in the starlight." "I don t believe it!" said Daisy. "Well!" ejaculated the elder lady again. "You haven t spoken to me for half an hour," her daughter went on. "I have been having some very pleasant conversation with your mother," said Winterbourne. "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. "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." Daisy stood there smiling; she threw back her head and gave a little, light laugh. "I like a gentleman to be formal!" she declared. "I assure you it s a formal offer." "I was bound I would make you say something," Daisy went on. "You see, it s not very difficult," said Winterbourne. "But I am afraid you are chaffing me." "I think not, sir," remarked Mrs. Miller very gently. "Do, then, let me give you a row," he said to the young girl. "It s quite lovely, the way you say that!" cried Daisy. "It will be still more lovely to do it." "Yes, it would be lovely!" said Daisy. But she made no movement to accompany him; she only stood there laughing. "I should think you had better find out what time it is," interposed her mother. "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. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. Daisy turned away from Winterbourne, looking at him, smiling and fanning herself.<|quote|>"Good night,"</|quote|>she said; "I hope you are disappointed, or disgusted, or something!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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. 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. 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. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. 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!" 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 | and Winterbourne, turning, perceived the florid personage who was in attendance upon the two ladies. He had apparently just approached. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. Daisy turned away from Winterbourne, looking at him, smiling and fanning herself.<|quote|>"Good night,"</|quote|>she said; "I hope you are disappointed, or disgusted, or something!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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. 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. 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 | Daisy Miller |
she said; | No speaker | and fanning herself. "Good night,"<|quote|>she said;</|quote|>"I hope you are disappointed, | Winterbourne, looking at him, smiling and fanning herself. "Good night,"<|quote|>she said;</|quote|>"I hope you are disappointed, or disgusted, or something!" He | said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. Daisy turned away from Winterbourne, looking at him, smiling and fanning herself. "Good night,"<|quote|>she said;</|quote|>"I hope you are disappointed, or disgusted, or something!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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 | courier looked for a moment at Winterbourne--the latter thought he was smiling--and then, solemnly, with a bow, "As mademoiselle pleases!" he said. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. Daisy turned away from Winterbourne, looking at him, smiling and fanning herself. "Good night,"<|quote|>she said;</|quote|>"I hope you are disappointed, or disgusted, or something!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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. 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 | clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. Daisy turned away from Winterbourne, looking at him, smiling and fanning herself. "Good night,"<|quote|>she said;</|quote|>"I hope you are disappointed, or disgusted, or something!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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. 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. 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 | will go and select one of them." Daisy stood there smiling; she threw back her head and gave a little, light laugh. "I like a gentleman to be formal!" she declared. "I assure you it s a formal offer." "I was bound I would make you say something," Daisy went on. "You see, it s not very difficult," said Winterbourne. "But I am afraid you are chaffing me." "I think not, sir," remarked Mrs. Miller very gently. "Do, then, let me give you a row," he said to the young girl. "It s quite lovely, the way you say that!" cried Daisy. "It will be still more lovely to do it." "Yes, it would be lovely!" said Daisy. But she made no movement to accompany him; she only stood there laughing. "I should think you had better find out what time it is," interposed her mother. "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. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. Daisy turned away from Winterbourne, looking at him, smiling and fanning herself. "Good night,"<|quote|>she said;</|quote|>"I hope you are disappointed, or disgusted, or something!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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. 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. 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 | the enterprise. "It seems as if there was nothing she wouldn t undertake." "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?" 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. "Mr. Winterbourne!" murmured Daisy. "Mademoiselle!" said the young man. "Don t you want to take me out in a boat?" "At present?" he asked. "Of course!" said Daisy. "Well, Annie Miller!" exclaimed her mother. "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. "I shouldn t think she d want to," said her mother. "I should think she d rather go indoors." "I m sure Mr. Winterbourne wants to take me," Daisy declared. "He s so awfully devoted!" "I will row you over to Chillon in the starlight." "I don t believe it!" said Daisy. "Well!" ejaculated the elder lady again. "You haven t spoken to me for half an hour," her daughter went on. "I have been having some very pleasant conversation with your mother," said Winterbourne. "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. "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." Daisy stood there smiling; she threw back her head and gave a little, light laugh. "I like a gentleman to be formal!" she declared. "I assure you it s a formal offer." "I was bound I would make you say something," Daisy went on. "You see, it s not very difficult," said Winterbourne. "But I am afraid you are chaffing me." "I think not, sir," remarked Mrs. Miller very gently. "Do, then, let me give you a row," he said to the young girl. "It s quite lovely, the way you say that!" cried Daisy. "It will be still more lovely to do it." "Yes, it would be lovely!" said Daisy. But she made no movement to accompany him; she only stood there laughing. "I should think you had better find out what time it is," interposed her mother. "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. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. Daisy turned away from Winterbourne, looking at him, smiling and fanning herself. "Good night,"<|quote|>she said;</|quote|>"I hope you are disappointed, or disgusted, or something!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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. 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. 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. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. 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!" 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 | row you over to Chillon in the starlight." "I don t believe it!" said Daisy. "Well!" ejaculated the elder lady again. "You haven t spoken to me for half an hour," her daughter went on. "I have been having some very pleasant conversation with your mother," said Winterbourne. "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. "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." Daisy stood there smiling; she threw back her head and gave a little, light laugh. "I like a gentleman to be formal!" she declared. "I assure you it s a formal offer." "I was bound I would make you say something," Daisy went on. "You see, it s not very difficult," said Winterbourne. "But I am afraid you are chaffing me." "I think not, sir," remarked Mrs. Miller very gently. "Do, then, let me give you a row," he said to the young girl. "It s quite lovely, the way you say that!" cried Daisy. "It will be still more lovely to do it." "Yes, it would be lovely!" said Daisy. But she made no movement to accompany him; she only stood there laughing. "I should think you had better find out what time it is," interposed her mother. "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. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. Daisy turned away from Winterbourne, looking at him, smiling and fanning herself. "Good night,"<|quote|>she said;</|quote|>"I hope you are disappointed, or disgusted, or something!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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. 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. 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 | Daisy Miller |
"I hope you are disappointed, or disgusted, or something!" | Daisy Miller | herself. "Good night," she said;<|quote|>"I hope you are disappointed, or disgusted, or something!"</|quote|>He looked at her, taking | at him, smiling and fanning herself. "Good night," she said;<|quote|>"I hope you are disappointed, or disgusted, or something!"</|quote|>He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. | "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. Daisy turned away from Winterbourne, looking at him, smiling and fanning herself. "Good night," she said;<|quote|>"I hope you are disappointed, or disgusted, or something!"</|quote|>He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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. Winterbourne stood looking after them; he was | for a moment at Winterbourne--the latter thought he was smiling--and then, solemnly, with a bow, "As mademoiselle pleases!" he said. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. Daisy turned away from Winterbourne, looking at him, smiling and fanning herself. "Good night," she said;<|quote|>"I hope you are disappointed, or disgusted, or something!"</|quote|>He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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. 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. Two days afterward he | "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. Daisy turned away from Winterbourne, looking at him, smiling and fanning herself. "Good night," she said;<|quote|>"I hope you are disappointed, or disgusted, or something!"</|quote|>He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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. 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. 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 | and select one of them." Daisy stood there smiling; she threw back her head and gave a little, light laugh. "I like a gentleman to be formal!" she declared. "I assure you it s a formal offer." "I was bound I would make you say something," Daisy went on. "You see, it s not very difficult," said Winterbourne. "But I am afraid you are chaffing me." "I think not, sir," remarked Mrs. Miller very gently. "Do, then, let me give you a row," he said to the young girl. "It s quite lovely, the way you say that!" cried Daisy. "It will be still more lovely to do it." "Yes, it would be lovely!" said Daisy. But she made no movement to accompany him; she only stood there laughing. "I should think you had better find out what time it is," interposed her mother. "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. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. Daisy turned away from Winterbourne, looking at him, smiling and fanning herself. "Good night," she said;<|quote|>"I hope you are disappointed, or disgusted, or something!"</|quote|>He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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. 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. 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 | "It seems as if there was nothing she wouldn t undertake." "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?" 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. "Mr. Winterbourne!" murmured Daisy. "Mademoiselle!" said the young man. "Don t you want to take me out in a boat?" "At present?" he asked. "Of course!" said Daisy. "Well, Annie Miller!" exclaimed her mother. "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. "I shouldn t think she d want to," said her mother. "I should think she d rather go indoors." "I m sure Mr. Winterbourne wants to take me," Daisy declared. "He s so awfully devoted!" "I will row you over to Chillon in the starlight." "I don t believe it!" said Daisy. "Well!" ejaculated the elder lady again. "You haven t spoken to me for half an hour," her daughter went on. "I have been having some very pleasant conversation with your mother," said Winterbourne. "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. "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." Daisy stood there smiling; she threw back her head and gave a little, light laugh. "I like a gentleman to be formal!" she declared. "I assure you it s a formal offer." "I was bound I would make you say something," Daisy went on. "You see, it s not very difficult," said Winterbourne. "But I am afraid you are chaffing me." "I think not, sir," remarked Mrs. Miller very gently. "Do, then, let me give you a row," he said to the young girl. "It s quite lovely, the way you say that!" cried Daisy. "It will be still more lovely to do it." "Yes, it would be lovely!" said Daisy. But she made no movement to accompany him; she only stood there laughing. "I should think you had better find out what time it is," interposed her mother. "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. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. Daisy turned away from Winterbourne, looking at him, smiling and fanning herself. "Good night," she said;<|quote|>"I hope you are disappointed, or disgusted, or something!"</|quote|>He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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. 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. 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. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. 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!" 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 | were gleaming, she was swinging her great fan about. No; it s impossible to be prettier than that, thought Winterbourne. "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." Daisy stood there smiling; she threw back her head and gave a little, light laugh. "I like a gentleman to be formal!" she declared. "I assure you it s a formal offer." "I was bound I would make you say something," Daisy went on. "You see, it s not very difficult," said Winterbourne. "But I am afraid you are chaffing me." "I think not, sir," remarked Mrs. Miller very gently. "Do, then, let me give you a row," he said to the young girl. "It s quite lovely, the way you say that!" cried Daisy. "It will be still more lovely to do it." "Yes, it would be lovely!" said Daisy. But she made no movement to accompany him; she only stood there laughing. "I should think you had better find out what time it is," interposed her mother. "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. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. Daisy turned away from Winterbourne, looking at him, smiling and fanning herself. "Good night," she said;<|quote|>"I hope you are disappointed, or disgusted, or something!"</|quote|>He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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. 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. 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 | Daisy Miller |
He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. | No speaker | disappointed, or disgusted, or something!"<|quote|>He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him.</|quote|>"I am puzzled," he answered. | said; "I hope you are disappointed, or disgusted, or something!"<|quote|>He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him.</|quote|>"I am puzzled," he answered. "Well, I hope it won | young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!"<|quote|>He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him.</|quote|>"I am puzzled," he answered. "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. Winterbourne stood looking after them; he was indeed puzzled. He lingered beside the lake for a quarter | smiling--and then, solemnly, with a bow, "As mademoiselle pleases!" he said. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!"<|quote|>He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him.</|quote|>"I am puzzled," he answered. "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. 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. Two days afterward he went off with her to the Castle of Chillon. He | tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!"<|quote|>He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him.</|quote|>"I am puzzled," he answered. "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. 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. 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 | she threw back her head and gave a little, light laugh. "I like a gentleman to be formal!" she declared. "I assure you it s a formal offer." "I was bound I would make you say something," Daisy went on. "You see, it s not very difficult," said Winterbourne. "But I am afraid you are chaffing me." "I think not, sir," remarked Mrs. Miller very gently. "Do, then, let me give you a row," he said to the young girl. "It s quite lovely, the way you say that!" cried Daisy. "It will be still more lovely to do it." "Yes, it would be lovely!" said Daisy. But she made no movement to accompany him; she only stood there laughing. "I should think you had better find out what time it is," interposed her mother. "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. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!"<|quote|>He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him.</|quote|>"I am puzzled," he answered. "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. 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. 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 | t undertake." "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?" 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. "Mr. Winterbourne!" murmured Daisy. "Mademoiselle!" said the young man. "Don t you want to take me out in a boat?" "At present?" he asked. "Of course!" said Daisy. "Well, Annie Miller!" exclaimed her mother. "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. "I shouldn t think she d want to," said her mother. "I should think she d rather go indoors." "I m sure Mr. Winterbourne wants to take me," Daisy declared. "He s so awfully devoted!" "I will row you over to Chillon in the starlight." "I don t believe it!" said Daisy. "Well!" ejaculated the elder lady again. "You haven t spoken to me for half an hour," her daughter went on. "I have been having some very pleasant conversation with your mother," said Winterbourne. "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. "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." Daisy stood there smiling; she threw back her head and gave a little, light laugh. "I like a gentleman to be formal!" she declared. "I assure you it s a formal offer." "I was bound I would make you say something," Daisy went on. "You see, it s not very difficult," said Winterbourne. "But I am afraid you are chaffing me." "I think not, sir," remarked Mrs. Miller very gently. "Do, then, let me give you a row," he said to the young girl. "It s quite lovely, the way you say that!" cried Daisy. "It will be still more lovely to do it." "Yes, it would be lovely!" said Daisy. But she made no movement to accompany him; she only stood there laughing. "I should think you had better find out what time it is," interposed her mother. "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. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!"<|quote|>He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him.</|quote|>"I am puzzled," he answered. "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. 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. 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. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. 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!" 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 | Daisy declared. "He s so awfully devoted!" "I will row you over to Chillon in the starlight." "I don t believe it!" said Daisy. "Well!" ejaculated the elder lady again. "You haven t spoken to me for half an hour," her daughter went on. "I have been having some very pleasant conversation with your mother," said Winterbourne. "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. "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." Daisy stood there smiling; she threw back her head and gave a little, light laugh. "I like a gentleman to be formal!" she declared. "I assure you it s a formal offer." "I was bound I would make you say something," Daisy went on. "You see, it s not very difficult," said Winterbourne. "But I am afraid you are chaffing me." "I think not, sir," remarked Mrs. Miller very gently. "Do, then, let me give you a row," he said to the young girl. "It s quite lovely, the way you say that!" cried Daisy. "It will be still more lovely to do it." "Yes, it would be lovely!" said Daisy. But she made no movement to accompany him; she only stood there laughing. "I should think you had better find out what time it is," interposed her mother. "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. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!"<|quote|>He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him.</|quote|>"I am puzzled," he answered. "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. 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. 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. "What on EARTH are | Daisy Miller |
"I am puzzled," | Winterbourne | the hand she offered him.<|quote|>"I am puzzled,"</|quote|>he answered. "Well, I hope | He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him.<|quote|>"I am puzzled,"</|quote|>he answered. "Well, I hope it won t keep you | to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him.<|quote|>"I am puzzled,"</|quote|>he answered. "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. Winterbourne stood looking after them; he was indeed puzzled. He lingered beside the lake for a quarter of an hour, | said. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him.<|quote|>"I am puzzled,"</|quote|>he answered. "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. 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. Two days afterward he went off with her to the Castle of Chillon. He waited for her | courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him.<|quote|>"I am puzzled,"</|quote|>he answered. "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. 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. 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. | laugh. "I like a gentleman to be formal!" she declared. "I assure you it s a formal offer." "I was bound I would make you say something," Daisy went on. "You see, it s not very difficult," said Winterbourne. "But I am afraid you are chaffing me." "I think not, sir," remarked Mrs. Miller very gently. "Do, then, let me give you a row," he said to the young girl. "It s quite lovely, the way you say that!" cried Daisy. "It will be still more lovely to do it." "Yes, it would be lovely!" said Daisy. But she made no movement to accompany him; she only stood there laughing. "I should think you had better find out what time it is," interposed her mother. "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. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him.<|quote|>"I am puzzled,"</|quote|>he answered. "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. 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. 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 | 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?" 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. "Mr. Winterbourne!" murmured Daisy. "Mademoiselle!" said the young man. "Don t you want to take me out in a boat?" "At present?" he asked. "Of course!" said Daisy. "Well, Annie Miller!" exclaimed her mother. "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. "I shouldn t think she d want to," said her mother. "I should think she d rather go indoors." "I m sure Mr. Winterbourne wants to take me," Daisy declared. "He s so awfully devoted!" "I will row you over to Chillon in the starlight." "I don t believe it!" said Daisy. "Well!" ejaculated the elder lady again. "You haven t spoken to me for half an hour," her daughter went on. "I have been having some very pleasant conversation with your mother," said Winterbourne. "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. "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." Daisy stood there smiling; she threw back her head and gave a little, light laugh. "I like a gentleman to be formal!" she declared. "I assure you it s a formal offer." "I was bound I would make you say something," Daisy went on. "You see, it s not very difficult," said Winterbourne. "But I am afraid you are chaffing me." "I think not, sir," remarked Mrs. Miller very gently. "Do, then, let me give you a row," he said to the young girl. "It s quite lovely, the way you say that!" cried Daisy. "It will be still more lovely to do it." "Yes, it would be lovely!" said Daisy. But she made no movement to accompany him; she only stood there laughing. "I should think you had better find out what time it is," interposed her mother. "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. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him.<|quote|>"I am puzzled,"</|quote|>he answered. "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. 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. 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. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. 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!" 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 | there smiling; she threw back her head and gave a little, light laugh. "I like a gentleman to be formal!" she declared. "I assure you it s a formal offer." "I was bound I would make you say something," Daisy went on. "You see, it s not very difficult," said Winterbourne. "But I am afraid you are chaffing me." "I think not, sir," remarked Mrs. Miller very gently. "Do, then, let me give you a row," he said to the young girl. "It s quite lovely, the way you say that!" cried Daisy. "It will be still more lovely to do it." "Yes, it would be lovely!" said Daisy. But she made no movement to accompany him; she only stood there laughing. "I should think you had better find out what time it is," interposed her mother. "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. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him.<|quote|>"I am puzzled,"</|quote|>he answered. "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. 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. 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 | Daisy Miller |
he answered. | No speaker | offered him. "I am puzzled,"<|quote|>he answered.</|quote|>"Well, I hope it won | her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled,"<|quote|>he answered.</|quote|>"Well, I hope it won t keep you awake!" she | courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled,"<|quote|>he answered.</|quote|>"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. Winterbourne stood looking after them; he was indeed puzzled. He lingered beside the lake for a quarter of an hour, turning over | hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled,"<|quote|>he answered.</|quote|>"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. 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. Two days afterward he went off with her to the Castle of Chillon. He waited for her in the | you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled,"<|quote|>he answered.</|quote|>"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. 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. 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 | a gentleman to be formal!" she declared. "I assure you it s a formal offer." "I was bound I would make you say something," Daisy went on. "You see, it s not very difficult," said Winterbourne. "But I am afraid you are chaffing me." "I think not, sir," remarked Mrs. Miller very gently. "Do, then, let me give you a row," he said to the young girl. "It s quite lovely, the way you say that!" cried Daisy. "It will be still more lovely to do it." "Yes, it would be lovely!" said Daisy. But she made no movement to accompany him; she only stood there laughing. "I should think you had better find out what time it is," interposed her mother. "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. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled,"<|quote|>he answered.</|quote|>"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. 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. 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 | 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?" 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. "Mr. Winterbourne!" murmured Daisy. "Mademoiselle!" said the young man. "Don t you want to take me out in a boat?" "At present?" he asked. "Of course!" said Daisy. "Well, Annie Miller!" exclaimed her mother. "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. "I shouldn t think she d want to," said her mother. "I should think she d rather go indoors." "I m sure Mr. Winterbourne wants to take me," Daisy declared. "He s so awfully devoted!" "I will row you over to Chillon in the starlight." "I don t believe it!" said Daisy. "Well!" ejaculated the elder lady again. "You haven t spoken to me for half an hour," her daughter went on. "I have been having some very pleasant conversation with your mother," said Winterbourne. "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. "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." Daisy stood there smiling; she threw back her head and gave a little, light laugh. "I like a gentleman to be formal!" she declared. "I assure you it s a formal offer." "I was bound I would make you say something," Daisy went on. "You see, it s not very difficult," said Winterbourne. "But I am afraid you are chaffing me." "I think not, sir," remarked Mrs. Miller very gently. "Do, then, let me give you a row," he said to the young girl. "It s quite lovely, the way you say that!" cried Daisy. "It will be still more lovely to do it." "Yes, it would be lovely!" said Daisy. But she made no movement to accompany him; she only stood there laughing. "I should think you had better find out what time it is," interposed her mother. "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. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled,"<|quote|>he answered.</|quote|>"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. 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. 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. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. 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!" 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 | Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled,"<|quote|>he answered.</|quote|>"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. 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. 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 | Daisy Miller |
"Well, I hope it won t keep you awake!" | Daisy Miller | "I am puzzled," he answered.<|quote|>"Well, I hope it won t keep you awake!"</|quote|>she said very smartly; and, | the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered.<|quote|>"Well, I hope it won t keep you awake!"</|quote|>she said very smartly; and, under the escort of the | frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered.<|quote|>"Well, I hope it won t keep you awake!"</|quote|>she said very smartly; and, under the escort of the privileged Eugenio, the two ladies passed toward the house. 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 | would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered.<|quote|>"Well, I hope it won t keep you awake!"</|quote|>she said very smartly; and, under the escort of the privileged Eugenio, the two ladies passed toward the house. 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. 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 | better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered.<|quote|>"Well, I hope it won t keep you awake!"</|quote|>she said very smartly; and, under the escort of the privileged Eugenio, the two ladies passed toward the house. 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. 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. | to be formal!" she declared. "I assure you it s a formal offer." "I was bound I would make you say something," Daisy went on. "You see, it s not very difficult," said Winterbourne. "But I am afraid you are chaffing me." "I think not, sir," remarked Mrs. Miller very gently. "Do, then, let me give you a row," he said to the young girl. "It s quite lovely, the way you say that!" cried Daisy. "It will be still more lovely to do it." "Yes, it would be lovely!" said Daisy. But she made no movement to accompany him; she only stood there laughing. "I should think you had better find out what time it is," interposed her mother. "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. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered.<|quote|>"Well, I hope it won t keep you awake!"</|quote|>she said very smartly; and, under the escort of the privileged Eugenio, the two ladies passed toward the house. 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. 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 | 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?" 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. "Mr. Winterbourne!" murmured Daisy. "Mademoiselle!" said the young man. "Don t you want to take me out in a boat?" "At present?" he asked. "Of course!" said Daisy. "Well, Annie Miller!" exclaimed her mother. "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. "I shouldn t think she d want to," said her mother. "I should think she d rather go indoors." "I m sure Mr. Winterbourne wants to take me," Daisy declared. "He s so awfully devoted!" "I will row you over to Chillon in the starlight." "I don t believe it!" said Daisy. "Well!" ejaculated the elder lady again. "You haven t spoken to me for half an hour," her daughter went on. "I have been having some very pleasant conversation with your mother," said Winterbourne. "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. "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." Daisy stood there smiling; she threw back her head and gave a little, light laugh. "I like a gentleman to be formal!" she declared. "I assure you it s a formal offer." "I was bound I would make you say something," Daisy went on. "You see, it s not very difficult," said Winterbourne. "But I am afraid you are chaffing me." "I think not, sir," remarked Mrs. Miller very gently. "Do, then, let me give you a row," he said to the young girl. "It s quite lovely, the way you say that!" cried Daisy. "It will be still more lovely to do it." "Yes, it would be lovely!" said Daisy. But she made no movement to accompany him; she only stood there laughing. "I should think you had better find out what time it is," interposed her mother. "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. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered.<|quote|>"Well, I hope it won t keep you awake!"</|quote|>she said very smartly; and, under the escort of the privileged Eugenio, the two ladies passed toward the house. 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. 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. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. 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!" 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 | cried Daisy. "It will be still more lovely to do it." "Yes, it would be lovely!" said Daisy. But she made no movement to accompany him; she only stood there laughing. "I should think you had better find out what time it is," interposed her mother. "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. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered.<|quote|>"Well, I hope it won t keep you awake!"</|quote|>she said very smartly; and, under the escort of the privileged Eugenio, the two ladies passed toward the house. 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. 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. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" | Daisy Miller |
she said very smartly; and, under the escort of the privileged Eugenio, the two ladies passed toward the house. 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. 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. | No speaker | won t keep you awake!"<|quote|>she said very smartly; and, under the escort of the privileged Eugenio, the two ladies passed toward the house. 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. 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.</|quote|>"What on EARTH are you | answered. "Well, I hope it won t keep you awake!"<|quote|>she said very smartly; and, under the escort of the privileged Eugenio, the two ladies passed toward the house. 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. 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.</|quote|>"What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly | Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "Well, I hope it won t keep you awake!"<|quote|>she said very smartly; and, under the escort of the privileged Eugenio, the two ladies passed toward the house. 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. 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.</|quote|>"What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, | care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "Well, I hope it won t keep you awake!"<|quote|>she said very smartly; and, under the escort of the privileged Eugenio, the two ladies passed toward the house. 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. 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.</|quote|>"What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. She looked at him a moment | declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "Well, I hope it won t keep you awake!"<|quote|>she said very smartly; and, under the escort of the privileged Eugenio, the two ladies passed toward the house. 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. 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.</|quote|>"What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. 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!" 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 | s a formal offer." "I was bound I would make you say something," Daisy went on. "You see, it s not very difficult," said Winterbourne. "But I am afraid you are chaffing me." "I think not, sir," remarked Mrs. Miller very gently. "Do, then, let me give you a row," he said to the young girl. "It s quite lovely, the way you say that!" cried Daisy. "It will be still more lovely to do it." "Yes, it would be lovely!" said Daisy. But she made no movement to accompany him; she only stood there laughing. "I should think you had better find out what time it is," interposed her mother. "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. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "Well, I hope it won t keep you awake!"<|quote|>she said very smartly; and, under the escort of the privileged Eugenio, the two ladies passed toward the house. 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. 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.</|quote|>"What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. 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!" 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. "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 | 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?" 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. "Mr. Winterbourne!" murmured Daisy. "Mademoiselle!" said the young man. "Don t you want to take me out in a boat?" "At present?" he asked. "Of course!" said Daisy. "Well, Annie Miller!" exclaimed her mother. "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. "I shouldn t think she d want to," said her mother. "I should think she d rather go indoors." "I m sure Mr. Winterbourne wants to take me," Daisy declared. "He s so awfully devoted!" "I will row you over to Chillon in the starlight." "I don t believe it!" said Daisy. "Well!" ejaculated the elder lady again. "You haven t spoken to me for half an hour," her daughter went on. "I have been having some very pleasant conversation with your mother," said Winterbourne. "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. "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." Daisy stood there smiling; she threw back her head and gave a little, light laugh. "I like a gentleman to be formal!" she declared. "I assure you it s a formal offer." "I was bound I would make you say something," Daisy went on. "You see, it s not very difficult," said Winterbourne. "But I am afraid you are chaffing me." "I think not, sir," remarked Mrs. Miller very gently. "Do, then, let me give you a row," he said to the young girl. "It s quite lovely, the way you say that!" cried Daisy. "It will be still more lovely to do it." "Yes, it would be lovely!" said Daisy. But she made no movement to accompany him; she only stood there laughing. "I should think you had better find out what time it is," interposed her mother. "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. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "Well, I hope it won t keep you awake!"<|quote|>she said very smartly; and, under the escort of the privileged Eugenio, the two ladies passed toward the house. 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. 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.</|quote|>"What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. 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!" 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. "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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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. | believe it!" said Daisy. "Well!" ejaculated the elder lady again. "You haven t spoken to me for half an hour," her daughter went on. "I have been having some very pleasant conversation with your mother," said Winterbourne. "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. "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." Daisy stood there smiling; she threw back her head and gave a little, light laugh. "I like a gentleman to be formal!" she declared. "I assure you it s a formal offer." "I was bound I would make you say something," Daisy went on. "You see, it s not very difficult," said Winterbourne. "But I am afraid you are chaffing me." "I think not, sir," remarked Mrs. Miller very gently. "Do, then, let me give you a row," he said to the young girl. "It s quite lovely, the way you say that!" cried Daisy. "It will be still more lovely to do it." "Yes, it would be lovely!" said Daisy. But she made no movement to accompany him; she only stood there laughing. "I should think you had better find out what time it is," interposed her mother. "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. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "Well, I hope it won t keep you awake!"<|quote|>she said very smartly; and, under the escort of the privileged Eugenio, the two ladies passed toward the house. 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. 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.</|quote|>"What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. 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!" 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. "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; | Daisy Miller |
"What on EARTH are you so grave about?" | Daisy Miller | it took a subjective turn.<|quote|>"What on EARTH are you so grave about?"</|quote|>she suddenly demanded, fixing her | but every now and then it took a subjective turn.<|quote|>"What on EARTH are you so grave about?"</|quote|>she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. | 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.<|quote|>"What on EARTH are you so grave about?"</|quote|>she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you | 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.<|quote|>"What on EARTH are you so grave about?"</|quote|>she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. She looked at him a moment and then burst into a little laugh. "I | 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.<|quote|>"What on EARTH are you so grave about?"</|quote|>she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. 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!" 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 | 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.<|quote|>"What on EARTH are you so grave about?"</|quote|>she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. 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!" 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. "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 | florid personage who was in attendance upon the two ladies. He had apparently just approached. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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. 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. 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.<|quote|>"What on EARTH are you so grave about?"</|quote|>she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. 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!" 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. "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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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 | 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.<|quote|>"What on EARTH are you so grave about?"</|quote|>she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. 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!" 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 | Daisy Miller |
she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. | No speaker | are you so grave about?"<|quote|>she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s.</|quote|>"Am I grave?" he asked. | subjective turn. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?"<|quote|>she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s.</|quote|>"Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I | 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. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?"<|quote|>she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s.</|quote|>"Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray | 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. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?"<|quote|>she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s.</|quote|>"Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. She looked at him a moment and then burst into a little laugh. "I like to make you say those things! You re a | 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. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?"<|quote|>she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s.</|quote|>"Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. 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!" 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 | 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. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?"<|quote|>she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s.</|quote|>"Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. 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!" 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. "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 | two ladies. He had apparently just approached. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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. 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. 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. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?"<|quote|>she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s.</|quote|>"Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. 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!" 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. "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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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 | 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. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?"<|quote|>she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s.</|quote|>"Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. 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!" 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. "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 | Daisy Miller |
"Am I grave?" | Winterbourne | agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s.<|quote|>"Am I grave?"</|quote|>he asked. "I had an | she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s.<|quote|>"Am I grave?"</|quote|>he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from | 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. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s.<|quote|>"Am I grave?"</|quote|>he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I | 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. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s.<|quote|>"Am I grave?"</|quote|>he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. 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!" In | 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. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s.<|quote|>"Am I grave?"</|quote|>he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. 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!" 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; | 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. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s.<|quote|>"Am I grave?"</|quote|>he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. 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!" 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. "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 | Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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. 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. 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. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s.<|quote|>"Am I grave?"</|quote|>he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. 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!" 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. "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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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 | 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. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s.<|quote|>"Am I grave?"</|quote|>he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. 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!" 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. "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, | Daisy Miller |
he asked. | No speaker | Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?"<|quote|>he asked.</|quote|>"I had an idea I | fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?"<|quote|>he asked.</|quote|>"I had an idea I was grinning from ear to | 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. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?"<|quote|>he asked.</|quote|>"I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry | 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. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?"<|quote|>he asked.</|quote|>"I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. 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!" In the castle, | 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. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?"<|quote|>he asked.</|quote|>"I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. 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!" 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 | 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. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?"<|quote|>he asked.</|quote|>"I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. 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!" 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. "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 | going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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. 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. 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. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?"<|quote|>he asked.</|quote|>"I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. 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!" 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. "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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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 | 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. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?"<|quote|>he asked.</|quote|>"I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. 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!" 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. "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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. | Daisy Miller |
"I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." | Winterbourne | "Am I grave?" he asked.<|quote|>"I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear."</|quote|>"You look as if you | agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" he asked.<|quote|>"I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear."</|quote|>"You look as if you were taking me to a | 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. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" he asked.<|quote|>"I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear."</|quote|>"You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." | 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. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" he asked.<|quote|>"I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear."</|quote|>"You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. 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!" In the castle, after they had landed, the subjective element decidedly prevailed. Daisy tripped | 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. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" he asked.<|quote|>"I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear."</|quote|>"You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. 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!" 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 | 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. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" he asked.<|quote|>"I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear."</|quote|>"You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. 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!" 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. "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 | in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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. 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. 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. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" he asked.<|quote|>"I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear."</|quote|>"You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. 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!" 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. "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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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 | 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. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" he asked.<|quote|>"I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear."</|quote|>"You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. 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!" 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 | Daisy Miller |
"You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." | Daisy Miller | grinning from ear to ear."<|quote|>"You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together."</|quote|>"Should you like me to | had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear."<|quote|>"You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together."</|quote|>"Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the | what metaphysicians term the objective cast, but every now and then it took a subjective turn. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear."<|quote|>"You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together."</|quote|>"Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. She looked at him a moment and then burst into a little | 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. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear."<|quote|>"You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together."</|quote|>"Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. 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!" 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 | 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. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear."<|quote|>"You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together."</|quote|>"Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. 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!" 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 | 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. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear."<|quote|>"You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together."</|quote|>"Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. 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!" 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. "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 | am going with Mr. Winterbourne--this very minute." "Do tell her she can t," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. "I think you had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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. 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. 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. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear."<|quote|>"You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together."</|quote|>"Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. 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!" 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. "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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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 | 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. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear."<|quote|>"You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together."</|quote|>"Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. 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!" 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 | Daisy Miller |
"Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" | Winterbourne | ears are very near together."<|quote|>"Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?"</|quote|>"Pray do, and I ll | that s a grin, your ears are very near together."<|quote|>"Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?"</|quote|>"Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It | grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together."<|quote|>"Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?"</|quote|>"Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. She looked at him a moment and then burst into a little laugh. "I like to make you say those things! You re | 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. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together."<|quote|>"Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?"</|quote|>"Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. 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!" 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 | 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. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together."<|quote|>"Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?"</|quote|>"Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. 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!" 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 | 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. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together."<|quote|>"Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?"</|quote|>"Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. 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!" 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. "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 | had better not go out in a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared. Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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. 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. 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. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together."<|quote|>"Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?"</|quote|>"Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. 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!" 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. "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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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 | 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. 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. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together."<|quote|>"Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?"</|quote|>"Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. 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!" 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. "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 | Daisy Miller |
"Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." | Daisy Miller | a hornpipe on the deck?"<|quote|>"Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey."</|quote|>"I never was better pleased | you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?"<|quote|>"Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey."</|quote|>"I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. | s. "Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?"<|quote|>"Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey."</|quote|>"I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. 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!" In the castle, after they had landed, the subjective element decidedly prevailed. Daisy tripped | 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. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?"<|quote|>"Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey."</|quote|>"I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. 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!" 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 | 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. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?"<|quote|>"Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey."</|quote|>"I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. 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!" 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 | 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. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?"<|quote|>"Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey."</|quote|>"I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. 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!" 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. "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 | Winterbourne wished to Heaven this pretty girl were not so familiar with her courier; but he said nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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. 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. 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. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?"<|quote|>"Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey."</|quote|>"I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. 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!" 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. "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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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 | 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. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?"<|quote|>"Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey."</|quote|>"I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. 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!" 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 | Daisy Miller |
"I never was better pleased in my life," | Winterbourne | the expenses of our journey."<|quote|>"I never was better pleased in my life,"</|quote|>murmured Winterbourne. She looked at | your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey."<|quote|>"I never was better pleased in my life,"</|quote|>murmured Winterbourne. She looked at him a moment and then | "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey."<|quote|>"I never was better pleased in my life,"</|quote|>murmured Winterbourne. 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!" In the castle, after they had landed, the subjective element decidedly prevailed. Daisy tripped about the vaulted chambers, rustled her skirts in | what metaphysicians term the objective cast, but every now and then it took a subjective turn. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey."<|quote|>"I never was better pleased in my life,"</|quote|>murmured Winterbourne. 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!" 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 | 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. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey."<|quote|>"I never was better pleased in my life,"</|quote|>murmured Winterbourne. 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!" 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 | 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. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey."<|quote|>"I never was better pleased in my life,"</|quote|>murmured Winterbourne. 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!" 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. "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 | nothing. "I suppose you don t think it s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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. 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. 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. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey."<|quote|>"I never was better pleased in my life,"</|quote|>murmured Winterbourne. 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!" 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. "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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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 | 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. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey."<|quote|>"I never was better pleased in my life,"</|quote|>murmured Winterbourne. 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!" 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. "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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say | Daisy Miller |
murmured Winterbourne. She looked at him a moment and then burst into a little laugh. | No speaker | better pleased in my life,"<|quote|>murmured Winterbourne. She looked at him a moment and then burst into a little laugh.</|quote|>"I like to make you | our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life,"<|quote|>murmured Winterbourne. She looked at him a moment and then burst into a little laugh.</|quote|>"I like to make you say those things! You re | to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life,"<|quote|>murmured Winterbourne. She looked at him a moment and then burst into a little laugh.</|quote|>"I like to make you say those things! You re a queer mixture!" 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 | now and then it took a subjective turn. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life,"<|quote|>murmured Winterbourne. She looked at him a moment and then burst into a little laugh.</|quote|>"I like to make you say those things! You re a queer mixture!" 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 | 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. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life,"<|quote|>murmured Winterbourne. She looked at him a moment and then burst into a little laugh.</|quote|>"I like to make you say those things! You re a queer mixture!" 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 | 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. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life,"<|quote|>murmured Winterbourne. She looked at him a moment and then burst into a little laugh.</|quote|>"I like to make you say those things! You re a queer mixture!" 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. "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 | s proper!" Daisy exclaimed. "Eugenio doesn t think anything s proper." "I am at your service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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. 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. 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. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life,"<|quote|>murmured Winterbourne. She looked at him a moment and then burst into a little laugh.</|quote|>"I like to make you say those things! You re a queer mixture!" 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. "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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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. "That s not a difficult promise to make," said Winterbourne. | 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. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life,"<|quote|>murmured Winterbourne. She looked at him a moment and then burst into a little laugh.</|quote|>"I like to make you say those things! You re a queer mixture!" 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. "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 | Daisy Miller |
"I like to make you say those things! You re a queer mixture!" | Daisy Miller | burst into a little laugh.<|quote|>"I like to make you say those things! You re a queer mixture!"</|quote|>In the castle, after they | him a moment and then burst into a little laugh.<|quote|>"I like to make you say those things! You re a queer mixture!"</|quote|>In the castle, after they had landed, the subjective element | you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. She looked at him a moment and then burst into a little laugh.<|quote|>"I like to make you say those things! You re a queer mixture!"</|quote|>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 | about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. She looked at him a moment and then burst into a little laugh.<|quote|>"I like to make you say those things! You re a queer mixture!"</|quote|>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 | 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. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. She looked at him a moment and then burst into a little laugh.<|quote|>"I like to make you say those things! You re a queer mixture!"</|quote|>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 | 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. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. She looked at him a moment and then burst into a little laugh.<|quote|>"I like to make you say those things! You re a queer mixture!"</|quote|>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. "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 | service," said Winterbourne. "Does mademoiselle propose to go alone?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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. 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. 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. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. She looked at him a moment and then burst into a little laugh.<|quote|>"I like to make you say those things! You re a queer mixture!"</|quote|>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. "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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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. "That s not a difficult promise to make," said Winterbourne. "My aunt has taken an apartment in Rome for the winter and has | 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. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. She looked at him a moment and then burst into a little laugh.<|quote|>"I like to make you say those things! You re a queer mixture!"</|quote|>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. "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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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 | Daisy Miller |
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. | No speaker | You re a queer mixture!"<|quote|>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.</|quote|>"Well, I hope you know | make you say those things! You re a queer mixture!"<|quote|>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.</|quote|>"Well, I hope you know enough!" she said to her | I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. 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!"<|quote|>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.</|quote|>"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 | grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. 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!"<|quote|>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.</|quote|>"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 | 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. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. 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!"<|quote|>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.</|quote|>"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 | 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. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. 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!"<|quote|>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.</|quote|>"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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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 | Miller. "Oh, no; with this gentleman!" answered Daisy s mamma. 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. "Oh, I hoped you would make a fuss!" said Daisy. "I don t care to go now." "I myself shall make a fuss if you don t go," said Winterbourne. "That s all I want--a little fuss!" And the young girl began to laugh again. "Mr. Randolph has gone to bed!" the courier announced frigidly. "Oh, Daisy; now we can go!" said Mrs. Miller. 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!" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. "I am puzzled," he answered. "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. 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. 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. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. 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!"<|quote|>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.</|quote|>"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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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. "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." "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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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 | 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. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. 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!"<|quote|>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.</|quote|>"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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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 | Daisy Miller |
"Well, I hope you know enough!" | Daisy Miller | indeed the most favorable account.<|quote|>"Well, I hope you know enough!"</|quote|>she said to her companion, | give the most definite, and indeed the most favorable account.<|quote|>"Well, I hope you know enough!"</|quote|>she said to her companion, after he had told her | 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.<|quote|>"Well, I hope you know enough!"</|quote|>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 | 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.<|quote|>"Well, I hope you know enough!"</|quote|>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 | 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.<|quote|>"Well, I hope you know enough!"</|quote|>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?" "It is a | 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. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. 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!" 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.<|quote|>"Well, I hope you know enough!"</|quote|>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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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, | 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. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. 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!" 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.<|quote|>"Well, I hope you know enough!"</|quote|>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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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. "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." "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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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, | 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. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. 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!" 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.<|quote|>"Well, I hope you know enough!"</|quote|>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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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 | Daisy Miller |
she said to her companion, after he had told her the history of the unhappy Bonivard. | No speaker | I hope you know enough!"<|quote|>she said to her companion, after he had told her the history of the unhappy Bonivard.</|quote|>"I never saw a man | the most favorable account. "Well, I hope you know enough!"<|quote|>she said to her companion, after he had told her the history of the unhappy Bonivard.</|quote|>"I never saw a man that knew so much!" The | 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. "Well, I hope you know enough!"<|quote|>she said to her companion, after he had told her the history of the unhappy Bonivard.</|quote|>"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, | 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. "Well, I hope you know enough!"<|quote|>she said to her companion, after he had told her the history of the unhappy Bonivard.</|quote|>"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." | 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. "Well, I hope you know enough!"<|quote|>she said to her companion, after he had told her the history of the unhappy Bonivard.</|quote|>"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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, | 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. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. 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!" 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. "Well, I hope you know enough!"<|quote|>she said to her companion, after he had told her the history of the unhappy Bonivard.</|quote|>"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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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 | 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. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. 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!" 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. "Well, I hope you know enough!"<|quote|>she said to her companion, after he had told her the history of the unhappy Bonivard.</|quote|>"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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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. "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." "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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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 | 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. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. 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!" 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. "Well, I hope you know enough!"<|quote|>she said to her companion, after he had told her the history of the unhappy Bonivard.</|quote|>"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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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 | Daisy Miller |
"I never saw a man that knew so much!" | Daisy Miller | history of the unhappy Bonivard.<|quote|>"I never saw a man that knew so much!"</|quote|>The history of Bonivard had | he had told her the history of the unhappy Bonivard.<|quote|>"I never saw a man that knew so much!"</|quote|>The history of Bonivard had evidently, as they say, gone | 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. "Well, I hope you know enough!" she said to her companion, after he had told her the history of the unhappy Bonivard.<|quote|>"I never saw a man that knew so much!"</|quote|>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 | 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. "Well, I hope you know enough!" she said to her companion, after he had told her the history of the unhappy Bonivard.<|quote|>"I never saw a man that knew so much!"</|quote|>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 | 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. "Well, I hope you know enough!" she said to her companion, after he had told her the history of the unhappy Bonivard.<|quote|>"I never saw a man that knew so much!"</|quote|>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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say | 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. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. 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!" 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. "Well, I hope you know enough!" she said to her companion, after he had told her the history of the unhappy Bonivard.<|quote|>"I never saw a man that knew so much!"</|quote|>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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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 | 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. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. 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!" 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. "Well, I hope you know enough!" she said to her companion, after he had told her the history of the unhappy Bonivard.<|quote|>"I never saw a man that knew so much!"</|quote|>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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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. "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." "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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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 | 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. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. 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!" 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. "Well, I hope you know enough!" she said to her companion, after he had told her the history of the unhappy Bonivard.<|quote|>"I never saw a man that knew so much!"</|quote|>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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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. "That s not a difficult promise to make," | Daisy Miller |
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. | No speaker | man that knew so much!"<|quote|>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.</|quote|>"Don t you want to | Bonivard. "I never saw a man that knew so much!"<|quote|>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.</|quote|>"Don t you want to come and teach Randolph?" she | tastes, habits, and intentions Miss Miller was prepared to give the most definite, and indeed the most favorable account. "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!"<|quote|>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.</|quote|>"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 | 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. "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!"<|quote|>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.</|quote|>"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 | 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. "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!"<|quote|>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.</|quote|>"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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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 | 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. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. 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!" 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. "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!"<|quote|>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.</|quote|>"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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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 | 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. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. 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!" 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. "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!"<|quote|>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.</|quote|>"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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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. "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." "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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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." 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 | 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. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. 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!" 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. "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!"<|quote|>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.</|quote|>"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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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, | Daisy Miller |
"Don t you want to come and teach Randolph?" | Daisy Miller | know something, in that case.<|quote|>"Don t you want to come and teach Randolph?"</|quote|>she asked. Winterbourne said that | round" with them; they might know something, in that case.<|quote|>"Don t you want to come and teach Randolph?"</|quote|>she asked. Winterbourne said that nothing could possibly please him | 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.<|quote|>"Don t you want to come and teach Randolph?"</|quote|>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 | 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. "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.<|quote|>"Don t you want to come and teach Randolph?"</|quote|>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 | 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. "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.<|quote|>"Don t you want to come and teach Randolph?"</|quote|>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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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 | I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. 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!" 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. "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.<|quote|>"Don t you want to come and teach Randolph?"</|quote|>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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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 | 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. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. 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!" 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. "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.<|quote|>"Don t you want to come and teach Randolph?"</|quote|>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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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. "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." "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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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." 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 | 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. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. 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!" 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. "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.<|quote|>"Don t you want to come and teach Randolph?"</|quote|>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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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 | Daisy Miller |
she asked. Winterbourne said that nothing could possibly please him so much, but that he had unfortunately other occupations. | No speaker | to come and teach Randolph?"<|quote|>she asked. Winterbourne said that nothing could possibly please him so much, but that he had unfortunately other occupations.</|quote|>"Other occupations? I don t | case. "Don t you want to come and teach Randolph?"<|quote|>she asked. Winterbourne said that nothing could possibly please him so much, but that he had unfortunately other occupations.</|quote|>"Other occupations? I don t believe it!" said Miss Daisy. | 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?"<|quote|>she asked. Winterbourne said that nothing could possibly please him so much, but that he had unfortunately other occupations.</|quote|>"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!" | intentions Miss Miller was prepared to give the most definite, and indeed the most favorable account. "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?"<|quote|>she asked. Winterbourne said that nothing could possibly please him so much, but that he had unfortunately other occupations.</|quote|>"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?" | 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. "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?"<|quote|>she asked. Winterbourne said that nothing could possibly please him so much, but that he had unfortunately other occupations.</|quote|>"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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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 | was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. 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!" 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. "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?"<|quote|>she asked. Winterbourne said that nothing could possibly please him so much, but that he had unfortunately other occupations.</|quote|>"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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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 | 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. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. 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!" 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. "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?"<|quote|>she asked. Winterbourne said that nothing could possibly please him so much, but that he had unfortunately other occupations.</|quote|>"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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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. "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." "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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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." 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. "If, after what happens--at Vevey and everywhere--you desire to | expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. 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!" 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. "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?"<|quote|>she asked. Winterbourne said that nothing could possibly please him so much, but that he had unfortunately other occupations.</|quote|>"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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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 | Daisy Miller |
"Other occupations? I don t believe it!" | Daisy Miller | he had unfortunately other occupations.<|quote|>"Other occupations? I don t believe it!"</|quote|>said Miss Daisy. "What do | him so much, but that he had unfortunately other occupations.<|quote|>"Other occupations? I don t believe it!"</|quote|>said Miss Daisy. "What do you mean? You are not | 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.<|quote|>"Other occupations? I don t believe it!"</|quote|>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!" | 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.<|quote|>"Other occupations? I don t believe it!"</|quote|>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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I | 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. "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.<|quote|>"Other occupations? I don t believe it!"</|quote|>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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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, | s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. 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!" 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. "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.<|quote|>"Other occupations? I don t believe it!"</|quote|>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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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 | 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. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. 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!" 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. "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.<|quote|>"Other occupations? I don t believe it!"</|quote|>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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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. "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." "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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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." 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. "If, after what happens--at Vevey and everywhere--you desire to keep up the acquaintance, you are very | 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. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. 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!" 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. "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.<|quote|>"Other occupations? I don t believe it!"</|quote|>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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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 | Daisy Miller |
said Miss Daisy. | No speaker | I don t believe it!"<|quote|>said Miss Daisy.</|quote|>"What do you mean? You | unfortunately other occupations. "Other occupations? I don t believe it!"<|quote|>said Miss Daisy.</|quote|>"What do you mean? You are not in business." The | 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!"<|quote|>said Miss Daisy.</|quote|>"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 | 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!"<|quote|>said Miss Daisy.</|quote|>"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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to | 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. "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!"<|quote|>said Miss Daisy.</|quote|>"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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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 | near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. 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!" 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. "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!"<|quote|>said Miss Daisy.</|quote|>"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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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 | 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. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. 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!" 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. "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!"<|quote|>said Miss Daisy.</|quote|>"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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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. "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." "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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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." 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. "If, after what happens--at Vevey and everywhere--you desire to keep up the acquaintance, you are very welcome. Of course | 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. "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!"<|quote|>said Miss Daisy.</|quote|>"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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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 | Daisy Miller |
"What do you mean? You are not in business." | Daisy Miller | believe it!" said Miss Daisy.<|quote|>"What do you mean? You are not in business."</|quote|>The young man admitted that | "Other occupations? I don t believe it!" said Miss Daisy.<|quote|>"What do you mean? You are not in business."</|quote|>The young man admitted that he was not in business; | 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.<|quote|>"What do you mean? You are not in business."</|quote|>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 | 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.<|quote|>"What do you mean? You are not in business."</|quote|>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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, | 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. "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.<|quote|>"What do you mean? You are not in business."</|quote|>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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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 | you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. 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!" 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. "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.<|quote|>"What do you mean? You are not in business."</|quote|>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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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 | 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. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. 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!" 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. "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.<|quote|>"What do you mean? You are not in business."</|quote|>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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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. "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." "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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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." 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. "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 | 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. "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.<|quote|>"What do you mean? You are not in business."</|quote|>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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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. "That s not a difficult promise to make," said Winterbourne. "My aunt has taken an apartment in Rome for the | Daisy Miller |
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. | No speaker | You are not in business."<|quote|>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.</|quote|>"Oh, bother!" she said; "I | Daisy. "What do you mean? You are not in business."<|quote|>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.</|quote|>"Oh, bother!" she said; "I don t believe it!" and | 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."<|quote|>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.</|quote|>"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 | "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."<|quote|>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.</|quote|>"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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "The last!" cried the young girl; "I call it the first. | 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. "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."<|quote|>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.</|quote|>"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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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 | deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. 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!" 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. "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."<|quote|>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.</|quote|>"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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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 | 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. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. 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!" 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. "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."<|quote|>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.</|quote|>"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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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. "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." "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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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." 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. "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!" "Pray what is it that happens--here, for instance?" Winterbourne demanded. "The girl goes about alone with her foreigners. As to what happens further, you must apply elsewhere | 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. "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."<|quote|>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.</|quote|>"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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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. "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." "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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the | Daisy Miller |
"Oh, bother!" | Daisy Miller | to go back to Geneva.<|quote|>"Oh, bother!"</|quote|>she said; "I don t | or two, would force him to go back to Geneva.<|quote|>"Oh, bother!"</|quote|>she said; "I don t believe it!" and she began | 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.<|quote|>"Oh, bother!"</|quote|>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?" | 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.<|quote|>"Oh, bother!"</|quote|>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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "The last!" cried the young girl; "I call it the first. I have | 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. "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.<|quote|>"Oh, bother!"</|quote|>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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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 | 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!" 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. "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.<|quote|>"Oh, bother!"</|quote|>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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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. | 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. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. 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!" 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. "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.<|quote|>"Oh, bother!"</|quote|>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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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. "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." "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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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." 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. "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!" "Pray what is it that happens--here, for instance?" Winterbourne demanded. "The girl goes about alone with her foreigners. As to what happens further, you must apply elsewhere for information. | 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. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. 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!" 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. "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.<|quote|>"Oh, bother!"</|quote|>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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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. "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." "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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is | Daisy Miller |
she said; | No speaker | back to Geneva. "Oh, bother!"<|quote|>she said;</|quote|>"I don t believe it!" | would force him to go back to Geneva. "Oh, bother!"<|quote|>she said;</|quote|>"I don t believe it!" and she began to talk | "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!"<|quote|>she said;</|quote|>"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?" "It is | 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!"<|quote|>she said;</|quote|>"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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "The last!" cried the young girl; "I call it the first. I have half a | 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. "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!"<|quote|>she said;</|quote|>"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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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 | him a moment and then burst into a little laugh. "I like to make you say those things! You re a queer mixture!" 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. "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!"<|quote|>she said;</|quote|>"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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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. "That s | 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. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. 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!" 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. "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!"<|quote|>she said;</|quote|>"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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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. "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." "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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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." 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. "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!" "Pray what is it that happens--here, for instance?" Winterbourne demanded. "The girl goes about alone with her foreigners. As to what happens further, you must apply elsewhere for information. She has | me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. 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!" 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. "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!"<|quote|>she said;</|quote|>"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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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. "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." "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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the | Daisy Miller |
"I don t believe it!" | Daisy Miller | Geneva. "Oh, bother!" she said;<|quote|>"I don t believe it!"</|quote|>and she began to talk | him to go back to Geneva. "Oh, bother!" she said;<|quote|>"I don t believe it!"</|quote|>and she began to talk about something else. But a | 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;<|quote|>"I don t believe it!"</|quote|>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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I | 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;<|quote|>"I don t believe it!"</|quote|>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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "The last!" cried the young girl; "I call it the first. I have half a mind to leave you here | 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. "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;<|quote|>"I don t believe it!"</|quote|>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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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 | moment and then burst into a little laugh. "I like to make you say those things! You re a queer mixture!" 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. "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;<|quote|>"I don t believe it!"</|quote|>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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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. "That s not a difficult promise to | 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. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. 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!" 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. "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;<|quote|>"I don t believe it!"</|quote|>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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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. "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." "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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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." 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. "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!" "Pray what is it that happens--here, for instance?" Winterbourne demanded. "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 | 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. "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;<|quote|>"I don t believe it!"</|quote|>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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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. "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." "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 | Daisy Miller |
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, | No speaker | "I don t believe it!"<|quote|>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,</|quote|>"You don t mean to | Geneva. "Oh, bother!" she said; "I don t believe it!"<|quote|>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,</|quote|>"You don t mean to say you are going back | 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!"<|quote|>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,</|quote|>"You don t mean to say you are going back to Geneva?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "The | 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!"<|quote|>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,</|quote|>"You don t mean to say you are going back to Geneva?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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 | 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. "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!"<|quote|>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,</|quote|>"You don t mean to say you are going back to Geneva?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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 | a little laugh. "I like to make you say those things! You re a queer mixture!" 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. "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!"<|quote|>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,</|quote|>"You don t mean to say you are going back to Geneva?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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. "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." "I don t want you to come | 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. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. 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!" 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. "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!"<|quote|>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,</|quote|>"You don t mean to say you are going back to Geneva?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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. "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." "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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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." 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. "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!" "Pray what is it that happens--here, for instance?" Winterbourne demanded. "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 our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. 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!" 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. "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!"<|quote|>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,</|quote|>"You don t mean to say you are going back to Geneva?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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 | Daisy Miller |
"You don t mean to say you are going back to Geneva?" | Daisy Miller | fireplace, she broke out irrelevantly,<|quote|>"You don t mean to say you are going back to Geneva?"</|quote|>"It is a melancholy fact | pretty design of an antique fireplace, she broke out irrelevantly,<|quote|>"You don t mean to say you are going back to Geneva?"</|quote|>"It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to | 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,<|quote|>"You don t mean to say you are going back to Geneva?"</|quote|>"It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "The last!" cried the young girl; "I call it the first. I have | 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,<|quote|>"You don t mean to say you are going back to Geneva?"</|quote|>"It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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 | the most definite, and indeed the most favorable account. "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,<|quote|>"You don t mean to say you are going back to Geneva?"</|quote|>"It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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, | 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. "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,<|quote|>"You don t mean to say you are going back to Geneva?"</|quote|>"It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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. "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." "I don t want you to come for your aunt," said Daisy; "I want you to come for me." | 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. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. 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!" 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. "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,<|quote|>"You don t mean to say you are going back to Geneva?"</|quote|>"It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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. "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." "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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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." 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. "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!" "Pray what is it that happens--here, for instance?" Winterbourne demanded. "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." "And where is the mother?" "I | 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. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. 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!" 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. "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,<|quote|>"You don t mean to say you are going back to Geneva?"</|quote|>"It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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. "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." "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. | Daisy Miller |
"It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." | Winterbourne | are going back to Geneva?"<|quote|>"It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow."</|quote|>"Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, | t mean to say you are going back to Geneva?"<|quote|>"It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow."</|quote|>"Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" | 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?"<|quote|>"It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow."</|quote|>"Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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 | "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?"<|quote|>"It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow."</|quote|>"Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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 | 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?"<|quote|>"It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow."</|quote|>"Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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 | 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. "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?"<|quote|>"It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow."</|quote|>"Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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. "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." "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 | 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. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. 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!" 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. "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?"<|quote|>"It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow."</|quote|>"Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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. "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." "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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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." 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. "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!" "Pray what is it that happens--here, for instance?" Winterbourne demanded. "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." "And where is the mother?" "I haven t the least idea. They are very dreadful people." Winterbourne meditated a moment. | was chiefly of what metaphysicians term the objective cast, but every now and then it took a subjective turn. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. 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!" 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. "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?"<|quote|>"It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow."</|quote|>"Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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. "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." "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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, | Daisy Miller |
"Well, Mr. Winterbourne," | Daisy Miller | to return to Geneva tomorrow."<|quote|>"Well, Mr. Winterbourne,"</|quote|>said Daisy, "I think you | fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow."<|quote|>"Well, Mr. Winterbourne,"</|quote|>said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t | 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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow."<|quote|>"Well, Mr. Winterbourne,"</|quote|>said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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 | 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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow."<|quote|>"Well, Mr. Winterbourne,"</|quote|>said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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 | 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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow."<|quote|>"Well, Mr. Winterbourne,"</|quote|>said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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 | 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. "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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow."<|quote|>"Well, Mr. Winterbourne,"</|quote|>said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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. "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." "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 | 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. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. 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!" 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. "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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow."<|quote|>"Well, Mr. Winterbourne,"</|quote|>said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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. "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." "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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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." 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. "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!" "Pray what is it that happens--here, for instance?" Winterbourne demanded. "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." "And where is the mother?" "I haven t the least idea. They are very dreadful people." Winterbourne meditated a moment. "They are very | taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. 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!" 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. "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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow."<|quote|>"Well, Mr. Winterbourne,"</|quote|>said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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. "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." "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 | Daisy Miller |
said Daisy, | No speaker | Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne,"<|quote|>said Daisy,</|quote|>"I think you re horrid!" | shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne,"<|quote|>said Daisy,</|quote|>"I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such | 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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne,"<|quote|>said Daisy,</|quote|>"I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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 | 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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne,"<|quote|>said Daisy,</|quote|>"I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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 | 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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne,"<|quote|>said Daisy,</|quote|>"I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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 | 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. "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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne,"<|quote|>said Daisy,</|quote|>"I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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. "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." "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 | 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. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. 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!" 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. "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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne,"<|quote|>said Daisy,</|quote|>"I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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. "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." "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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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." 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. "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!" "Pray what is it that happens--here, for instance?" Winterbourne demanded. "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." "And where is the mother?" "I haven t the least idea. They are very dreadful people." Winterbourne meditated a moment. "They are very ignorant--very innocent | like to make you say those things! You re a queer mixture!" 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. "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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne,"<|quote|>said Daisy,</|quote|>"I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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. "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." "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 | Daisy Miller |
"I think you re horrid!" | Daisy Miller | "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy,<|quote|>"I think you re horrid!"</|quote|>"Oh, don t say such | to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy,<|quote|>"I think you re horrid!"</|quote|>"Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just | 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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy,<|quote|>"I think you re horrid!"</|quote|>"Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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 | 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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy,<|quote|>"I think you re horrid!"</|quote|>"Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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 | "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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy,<|quote|>"I think you re horrid!"</|quote|>"Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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 | 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. "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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy,<|quote|>"I think you re horrid!"</|quote|>"Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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. "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." "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 | 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. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. 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!" 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. "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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy,<|quote|>"I think you re horrid!"</|quote|>"Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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. "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." "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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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." 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. "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!" "Pray what is it that happens--here, for instance?" Winterbourne demanded. "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." "And where is the mother?" "I haven t the least idea. They are very dreadful people." Winterbourne meditated a moment. "They are very ignorant--very innocent only. Depend upon it they | 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. "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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy,<|quote|>"I think you re horrid!"</|quote|>"Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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. "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." "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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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 | Daisy Miller |
"Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" | Winterbourne | "I think you re horrid!"<|quote|>"Oh, don t say such dreadful things!"</|quote|>said Winterbourne--" "just at the | "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!"<|quote|>"Oh, don t say such dreadful things!"</|quote|>said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "The last!" cried the | 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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!"<|quote|>"Oh, don t say such dreadful things!"</|quote|>said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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 | 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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!"<|quote|>"Oh, don t say such dreadful things!"</|quote|>said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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 | 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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!"<|quote|>"Oh, don t say such dreadful things!"</|quote|>said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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 | 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. "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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!"<|quote|>"Oh, don t say such dreadful things!"</|quote|>said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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. "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." "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 | 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. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. 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!" 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. "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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!"<|quote|>"Oh, don t say such dreadful things!"</|quote|>said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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. "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." "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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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." 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. "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!" "Pray what is it that happens--here, for instance?" Winterbourne demanded. "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." "And where is the mother?" "I haven t the least idea. They are very dreadful people." Winterbourne meditated a moment. "They are very ignorant--very innocent only. Depend upon it they are not bad." "They are hopelessly vulgar," | 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. "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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!"<|quote|>"Oh, don t say such dreadful things!"</|quote|>said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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 | Daisy Miller |
said Winterbourne--" | No speaker | t say such dreadful things!"<|quote|>said Winterbourne--"</|quote|>"just at the last!" "The | you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!"<|quote|>said Winterbourne--"</|quote|>"just at the last!" "The last!" cried the young girl; | an antique fireplace, she broke out irrelevantly, "You don t mean to say you are going back to Geneva?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!"<|quote|>said Winterbourne--"</|quote|>"just at the last!" "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; | 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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!"<|quote|>said Winterbourne--"</|quote|>"just at the last!" "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 | 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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!"<|quote|>said Winterbourne--"</|quote|>"just at the last!" "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 | 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. "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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!"<|quote|>said Winterbourne--"</|quote|>"just at the last!" "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. "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." "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 | 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. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. 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!" 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. "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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!"<|quote|>said Winterbourne--"</|quote|>"just at the last!" "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. "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." "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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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." 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. "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!" "Pray what is it that happens--here, for instance?" Winterbourne demanded. "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." "And where is the mother?" "I haven t the least idea. They are very dreadful people." Winterbourne meditated a moment. "They are very ignorant--very innocent only. Depend upon it they are not bad." "They are hopelessly vulgar," said Mrs. | 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. "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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!"<|quote|>said Winterbourne--"</|quote|>"just at the last!" "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. "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." "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 | Daisy Miller |
"just at the last!" | Winterbourne | such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--"<|quote|>"just at the last!"</|quote|>"The last!" cried the young | horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--"<|quote|>"just at the last!"</|quote|>"The last!" cried the young girl; "I call it the | fireplace, she broke out irrelevantly, "You don t mean to say you are going back to Geneva?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--"<|quote|>"just at the last!"</|quote|>"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 | 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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--"<|quote|>"just at the last!"</|quote|>"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 | 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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--"<|quote|>"just at the last!"</|quote|>"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 | 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. "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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--"<|quote|>"just at the last!"</|quote|>"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. "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." "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 | 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. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. 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!" 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. "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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--"<|quote|>"just at the last!"</|quote|>"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. "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." "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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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." 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. "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!" "Pray what is it that happens--here, for instance?" Winterbourne demanded. "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." "And where is the mother?" "I haven t the least idea. They are very dreadful people." Winterbourne meditated a moment. "They are very ignorant--very innocent only. Depend upon it they are not bad." "They are hopelessly vulgar," said Mrs. Costello. "Whether or no | 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. "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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--"<|quote|>"just at the last!"</|quote|>"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. "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." "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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II Winterbourne, who had returned to | Daisy Miller |
"The last!" | Daisy Miller | Winterbourne--" "just at the last!"<|quote|>"The last!"</|quote|>cried the young girl; "I | say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!"<|quote|>"The last!"</|quote|>cried the young girl; "I call it the first. I | irrelevantly, "You don t mean to say you are going back to Geneva?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!"<|quote|>"The last!"</|quote|>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 | 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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!"<|quote|>"The last!"</|quote|>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 | 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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!"<|quote|>"The last!"</|quote|>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 | 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. "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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!"<|quote|>"The last!"</|quote|>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. "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." "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, | 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. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. 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!" 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. "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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!"<|quote|>"The last!"</|quote|>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. "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." "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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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." 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. "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!" "Pray what is it that happens--here, for instance?" Winterbourne demanded. "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." "And where is the mother?" "I haven t the least idea. They are very dreadful people." Winterbourne meditated a moment. "They are very ignorant--very innocent only. Depend upon it they are not bad." "They are hopelessly vulgar," said Mrs. Costello. "Whether or no being hopelessly | 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. "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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!"<|quote|>"The last!"</|quote|>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 | Daisy Miller |
cried the young girl; | No speaker | at the last!" "The last!"<|quote|>cried the young girl;</|quote|>"I call it the first. | dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "The last!"<|quote|>cried the young girl;</|quote|>"I call it the first. I have half a mind | don t mean to say you are going back to Geneva?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "The last!"<|quote|>cried the young girl;</|quote|>"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 | 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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "The last!"<|quote|>cried the young girl;</|quote|>"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 | 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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "The last!"<|quote|>cried the young girl;</|quote|>"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 | 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. "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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "The last!"<|quote|>cried the young girl;</|quote|>"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. "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." "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 | 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. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. 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!" 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. "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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "The last!"<|quote|>cried the young girl;</|quote|>"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. "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." "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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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." 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. "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!" "Pray what is it that happens--here, for instance?" Winterbourne demanded. "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." "And where is the mother?" "I haven t the least idea. They are very dreadful people." Winterbourne meditated a moment. "They are very ignorant--very innocent only. Depend upon it they are not bad." "They are hopelessly vulgar," said Mrs. Costello. "Whether or no being hopelessly vulgar is being bad | 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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "The last!"<|quote|>cried the young girl;</|quote|>"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. "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." "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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me | Daisy Miller |
"I call it the first. I have half a mind to leave you here and go straight back to the hotel alone." | Daisy Miller | last!" cried the young girl;<|quote|>"I call it the first. I have half a mind to leave you here and go straight back to the hotel alone."</|quote|>And for the next ten | "just at the last!" "The last!" cried the young girl;<|quote|>"I call it the first. I have half a mind to leave you here and go straight back to the hotel alone."</|quote|>And for the next ten minutes she did nothing but | say you are going back to Geneva?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "The last!" cried the young girl;<|quote|>"I call it the first. I have half a mind to leave you here and go straight back to the hotel alone."</|quote|>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 | 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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "The last!" cried the young girl;<|quote|>"I call it the first. I have half a mind to leave you here and go straight back to the hotel alone."</|quote|>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 | 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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "The last!" cried the young girl;<|quote|>"I call it the first. I have half a mind to leave you here and go straight back to the hotel alone."</|quote|>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 | 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. "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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "The last!" cried the young girl;<|quote|>"I call it the first. I have half a mind to leave you here and go straight back to the hotel alone."</|quote|>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. "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." "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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had | 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. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. 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!" 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. "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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "The last!" cried the young girl;<|quote|>"I call it the first. I have half a mind to leave you here and go straight back to the hotel alone."</|quote|>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. "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." "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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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." 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. "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!" "Pray what is it that happens--here, for instance?" Winterbourne demanded. "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." "And where is the mother?" "I haven t the least idea. They are very dreadful people." Winterbourne meditated a moment. "They are very ignorant--very innocent only. Depend upon it they are not bad." "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 | 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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "The last!" cried the young girl;<|quote|>"I call it the first. I have half a mind to leave you here and go straight back to the hotel alone."</|quote|>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. "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." "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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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." In the natural course of events, Winterbourne, on arriving in Rome, would presently have ascertained Mrs. Miller s address at the American | Daisy Miller |
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. | No speaker | back to the hotel alone."<|quote|>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.</|quote|>"Does she never allow you | you here and go straight back to the hotel alone."<|quote|>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.</|quote|>"Does she never allow you more than three days at | Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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."<|quote|>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.</|quote|>"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, | 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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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."<|quote|>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.</|quote|>"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 | 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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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."<|quote|>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.</|quote|>"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. "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." "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 | 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. "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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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."<|quote|>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.</|quote|>"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. "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." "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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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 | 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. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. 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!" 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. "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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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."<|quote|>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.</|quote|>"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. "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." "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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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." 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. "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!" "Pray what is it that happens--here, for instance?" Winterbourne demanded. "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." "And where is the mother?" "I haven t the least idea. They are very dreadful people." Winterbourne meditated a moment. "They are very ignorant--very innocent only. Depend upon it they are not bad." "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." 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 | prepared to give the most definite, and indeed the most favorable account. "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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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."<|quote|>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.</|quote|>"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. "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." "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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she | Daisy Miller |
"Does she never allow you more than three days at a time?" | Daisy Miller | mixture of innocence and crudity.<|quote|>"Does she never allow you more than three days at a time?"</|quote|>asked Daisy ironically. "Doesn t | in all this, an extraordinary mixture of innocence and crudity.<|quote|>"Does she never allow you more than three days at a time?"</|quote|>asked Daisy ironically. "Doesn t she give you a vacation | 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.<|quote|>"Does she never allow you more than three days at a time?"</|quote|>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 | 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.<|quote|>"Does she never allow you more than three days at a time?"</|quote|>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 | return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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.<|quote|>"Does she never allow you more than three days at a time?"</|quote|>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. "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." "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 | 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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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.<|quote|>"Does she never allow you more than three days at a time?"</|quote|>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. "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." "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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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 | 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. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. 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!" 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. "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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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.<|quote|>"Does she never allow you more than three days at a time?"</|quote|>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. "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." "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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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." 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. "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!" "Pray what is it that happens--here, for instance?" Winterbourne demanded. "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." "And where is the mother?" "I haven t the least idea. They are very dreadful people." Winterbourne meditated a moment. "They are very ignorant--very innocent only. Depend upon it they are not bad." "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." 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 | 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. "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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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.<|quote|>"Does she never allow you more than three days at a time?"</|quote|>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. "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." "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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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." 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. "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!" "Pray what is it that happens--here, for instance?" Winterbourne demanded. "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 | Daisy Miller |
asked Daisy ironically. | No speaker | three days at a time?"<|quote|>asked Daisy ironically.</|quote|>"Doesn t she give you | never allow you more than three days at a time?"<|quote|>asked Daisy ironically.</|quote|>"Doesn t she give you a vacation in summer? There | 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?"<|quote|>asked Daisy ironically.</|quote|>"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 | 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?"<|quote|>asked Daisy ironically.</|quote|>"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, | re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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?"<|quote|>asked Daisy ironically.</|quote|>"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. "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." "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 | 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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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?"<|quote|>asked Daisy ironically.</|quote|>"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. "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." "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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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 | 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. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. 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!" 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. "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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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?"<|quote|>asked Daisy ironically.</|quote|>"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. "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." "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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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." 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. "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!" "Pray what is it that happens--here, for instance?" Winterbourne demanded. "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." "And where is the mother?" "I haven t the least idea. They are very dreadful people." Winterbourne meditated a moment. "They are very ignorant--very innocent only. Depend upon it they are not bad." "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." 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. | 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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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?"<|quote|>asked Daisy ironically.</|quote|>"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. "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." "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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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." 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. "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!" "Pray what is it that happens--here, for instance?" Winterbourne demanded. "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." "And where is the mother?" "I haven t the least idea. They are very dreadful people." Winterbourne meditated a moment. "They are very ignorant--very innocent only. Depend upon it they are | Daisy Miller |
"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!" | Daisy Miller | a time?" asked Daisy ironically.<|quote|>"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!"</|quote|>Winterbourne began to think he | more than three days at a time?" asked Daisy ironically.<|quote|>"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!"</|quote|>Winterbourne began to think he had been wrong to feel | 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.<|quote|>"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!"</|quote|>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" | 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.<|quote|>"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!"</|quote|>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. "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." "I don t want | don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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.<|quote|>"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!"</|quote|>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. "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." "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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, | 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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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.<|quote|>"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!"</|quote|>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. "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." "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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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." 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 | 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. "What on EARTH are you so grave about?" she suddenly demanded, fixing her agreeable eyes upon Winterbourne s. "Am I grave?" he asked. "I had an idea I was grinning from ear to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. 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!" 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. "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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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.<|quote|>"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!"</|quote|>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. "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." "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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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." 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. "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!" "Pray what is it that happens--here, for instance?" Winterbourne demanded. "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." "And where is the mother?" "I haven t the least idea. They are very dreadful people." Winterbourne meditated a moment. "They are very ignorant--very innocent only. Depend upon it they are not bad." "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." 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. | 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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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.<|quote|>"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!"</|quote|>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. "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." "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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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." 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. "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!" "Pray what is it that happens--here, for instance?" Winterbourne demanded. "The girl goes about alone with her foreigners. As to | Daisy Miller |
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. | No speaker | landing to see her arrive!"<|quote|>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.</|quote|>"That s not a difficult | will go down to the landing to see her arrive!"<|quote|>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.</|quote|>"That s not a difficult promise to make," said Winterbourne. | 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!"<|quote|>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.</|quote|>"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." "I don t want you to come for your aunt," said Daisy; "I want you to come for me." | 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!"<|quote|>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.</|quote|>"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." "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 | 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!"<|quote|>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.</|quote|>"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." "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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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 | 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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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!"<|quote|>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.</|quote|>"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." "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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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." 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. "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!" "Pray what is it that happens--here, for instance?" Winterbourne demanded. "The girl goes about alone with her foreigners. As to what happens further, you must apply elsewhere for information. | to ear." "You look as if you were taking me to a funeral. If that s a grin, your ears are very near together." "Should you like me to dance a hornpipe on the deck?" "Pray do, and I ll carry round your hat. It will pay the expenses of our journey." "I never was better pleased in my life," murmured Winterbourne. 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!" 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. "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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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!"<|quote|>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.</|quote|>"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." "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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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." 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. "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!" "Pray what is it that happens--here, for instance?" Winterbourne demanded. "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." "And where is the mother?" "I haven t the least idea. They are very dreadful people." Winterbourne meditated a moment. "They are very ignorant--very innocent only. Depend upon it they are not bad." "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." 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. "I know you!" said Randolph. "I m sure you know a great many things," exclaimed Winterbourne, taking him by the hand. "How is your education coming on?" Daisy was exchanging greetings very prettily with her hostess, but when she heard Winterbourne s voice she quickly turned | 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. "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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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!"<|quote|>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.</|quote|>"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." "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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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." 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. "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!" "Pray what is it that happens--here, for instance?" Winterbourne demanded. "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." "And where is the mother?" "I haven t the least idea. They are very dreadful people." Winterbourne meditated a moment. "They are very ignorant--very innocent only. Depend upon it they are not bad." "They are hopelessly vulgar," said Mrs. Costello. "Whether or | Daisy Miller |
"That s not a difficult promise to make," | Winterbourne | to Rome in the winter.<|quote|>"That s not a difficult promise to make,"</|quote|>said Winterbourne. "My aunt has | her solemnly to come down to Rome in the winter.<|quote|>"That s not a difficult promise to make,"</|quote|>said Winterbourne. "My aunt has taken an apartment in Rome | 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.<|quote|>"That s not a difficult promise to make,"</|quote|>said Winterbourne. "My aunt has taken an apartment in Rome for the winter and has already asked me to come and see her." "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 | 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.<|quote|>"That s not a difficult promise to make,"</|quote|>said Winterbourne. "My aunt has taken an apartment in Rome for the winter and has already asked me to come and see her." "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. In the evening Winterbourne | 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.<|quote|>"That s not a difficult promise to make,"</|quote|>said Winterbourne. "My aunt has taken an apartment in Rome for the winter and has already asked me to come and see her." "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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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 | 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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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.<|quote|>"That s not a difficult promise to make,"</|quote|>said Winterbourne. "My aunt has taken an apartment in Rome for the winter and has already asked me to come and see her." "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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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." 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. "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!" "Pray what is it that happens--here, for instance?" Winterbourne demanded. "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 | him a moment and then burst into a little laugh. "I like to make you say those things! You re a queer mixture!" 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. "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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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.<|quote|>"That s not a difficult promise to make,"</|quote|>said Winterbourne. "My aunt has taken an apartment in Rome for the winter and has already asked me to come and see her." "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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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." 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. "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!" "Pray what is it that happens--here, for instance?" Winterbourne demanded. "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." "And where is the mother?" "I haven t the least idea. They are very dreadful people." Winterbourne meditated a moment. "They are very ignorant--very innocent only. Depend upon it they are not bad." "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." 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. "I know you!" said Randolph. "I m sure you know a great many things," exclaimed Winterbourne, taking him by the hand. "How is your education coming on?" 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. "I | 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.<|quote|>"That s not a difficult promise to make,"</|quote|>said Winterbourne. "My aunt has taken an apartment in Rome for the winter and has already asked me to come and see her." "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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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." 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. "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!" "Pray what is it that happens--here, for instance?" Winterbourne demanded. "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." "And where is the mother?" "I haven t the least idea. They are very dreadful people." Winterbourne meditated a moment. "They are very ignorant--very innocent only. Depend upon it they are not bad." "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." 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 | Daisy Miller |
said Winterbourne. | No speaker | a difficult promise to make,"<|quote|>said Winterbourne.</|quote|>"My aunt has taken an | the winter. "That s not a difficult promise to make,"<|quote|>said Winterbourne.</|quote|>"My aunt has taken an apartment in Rome for the | 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. "That s not a difficult promise to make,"<|quote|>said Winterbourne.</|quote|>"My aunt has taken an apartment in Rome for the winter and has already asked me to come and see her." "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 | 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. "That s not a difficult promise to make,"<|quote|>said Winterbourne.</|quote|>"My aunt has taken an apartment in Rome for the winter and has already asked me to come and see her." "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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to | 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. "That s not a difficult promise to make,"<|quote|>said Winterbourne.</|quote|>"My aunt has taken an apartment in Rome for the winter and has already asked me to come and see her." "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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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 | 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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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. "That s not a difficult promise to make,"<|quote|>said Winterbourne.</|quote|>"My aunt has taken an apartment in Rome for the winter and has already asked me to come and see her." "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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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." 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. "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!" "Pray what is it that happens--here, for instance?" Winterbourne demanded. "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 | little laugh. "I like to make you say those things! You re a queer mixture!" 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. "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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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. "That s not a difficult promise to make,"<|quote|>said Winterbourne.</|quote|>"My aunt has taken an apartment in Rome for the winter and has already asked me to come and see her." "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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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." 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. "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!" "Pray what is it that happens--here, for instance?" Winterbourne demanded. "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." "And where is the mother?" "I haven t the least idea. They are very dreadful people." Winterbourne meditated a moment. "They are very ignorant--very innocent only. Depend upon it they are not bad." "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." 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. "I know you!" said Randolph. "I m sure you know a great many things," exclaimed Winterbourne, taking him by the hand. "How is your education coming on?" 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. "I told you | "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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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. "That s not a difficult promise to make,"<|quote|>said Winterbourne.</|quote|>"My aunt has taken an apartment in Rome for the winter and has already asked me to come and see her." "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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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, | Daisy Miller |
"My aunt has taken an apartment in Rome for the winter and has already asked me to come and see her." | Winterbourne | promise to make," said Winterbourne.<|quote|>"My aunt has taken an apartment in Rome for the winter and has already asked me to come and see her."</|quote|>"I don t want you | "That s not a difficult promise to make," said Winterbourne.<|quote|>"My aunt has taken an apartment in Rome for the winter and has already asked me to come and see her."</|quote|>"I don t want you to come for your aunt," | 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. "That s not a difficult promise to make," said Winterbourne.<|quote|>"My aunt has taken an apartment in Rome for the winter and has already asked me to come and see her."</|quote|>"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 | 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. "That s not a difficult promise to make," said Winterbourne.<|quote|>"My aunt has taken an apartment in Rome for the winter and has already asked me to come and see her."</|quote|>"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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. | 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. "That s not a difficult promise to make," said Winterbourne.<|quote|>"My aunt has taken an apartment in Rome for the winter and has already asked me to come and see her."</|quote|>"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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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," | 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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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. "That s not a difficult promise to make," said Winterbourne.<|quote|>"My aunt has taken an apartment in Rome for the winter and has already asked me to come and see her."</|quote|>"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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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." 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. "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!" "Pray what is it that happens--here, for instance?" Winterbourne demanded. "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 | "I like to make you say those things! You re a queer mixture!" 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. "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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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. "That s not a difficult promise to make," said Winterbourne.<|quote|>"My aunt has taken an apartment in Rome for the winter and has already asked me to come and see her."</|quote|>"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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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." 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. "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!" "Pray what is it that happens--here, for instance?" Winterbourne demanded. "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." "And where is the mother?" "I haven t the least idea. They are very dreadful people." Winterbourne meditated a moment. "They are very ignorant--very innocent only. Depend upon it they are not bad." "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." 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. "I know you!" said Randolph. "I m sure you know a great many things," exclaimed Winterbourne, taking him by the hand. "How is your education coming on?" 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. "I told you I should come, you know," Winterbourne rejoined, smiling. "Well, I didn t believe it," said Miss Daisy. "I am much obliged | 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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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. "That s not a difficult promise to make," said Winterbourne.<|quote|>"My aunt has taken an apartment in Rome for the winter and has already asked me to come and see her."</|quote|>"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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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." 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. "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!" "Pray what is it that happens--here, for instance?" Winterbourne demanded. "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." "And where is the mother?" "I haven t the least idea. They are very dreadful people." Winterbourne meditated a moment. "They are very ignorant--very innocent only. Depend upon it they are not bad." "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." The news that Daisy Miller was surrounded | Daisy Miller |
"I don t want you to come for your aunt," | Daisy Miller | to come and see her."<|quote|>"I don t want you to come for your aunt,"</|quote|>said Daisy; "I want you | and has already asked me to come and see her."<|quote|>"I don t want you to come for your aunt,"</|quote|>said Daisy; "I want you to come for me." And | she would stop "teasing" him if he would promise her solemnly to come down to Rome in the winter. "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."<|quote|>"I don t want you to come for your aunt,"</|quote|>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 | 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. "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."<|quote|>"I don t want you to come for your aunt,"</|quote|>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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She | 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. "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."<|quote|>"I don t want you to come for your aunt,"</|quote|>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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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 | an antique fireplace, she broke out irrelevantly, "You don t mean to say you are going back to Geneva?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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. "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."<|quote|>"I don t want you to come for your aunt,"</|quote|>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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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." 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. "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!" "Pray what is it that happens--here, for instance?" Winterbourne demanded. "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 | 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. "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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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. "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."<|quote|>"I don t want you to come for your aunt,"</|quote|>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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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." 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. "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!" "Pray what is it that happens--here, for instance?" Winterbourne demanded. "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." "And where is the mother?" "I haven t the least idea. They are very dreadful people." Winterbourne meditated a moment. "They are very ignorant--very innocent only. Depend upon it they are not bad." "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." 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. "I know you!" said Randolph. "I m sure you know a great many things," exclaimed Winterbourne, taking him by the hand. "How is your education coming on?" 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. "I told you I should come, you know," Winterbourne rejoined, smiling. "Well, I didn t believe it," said Miss Daisy. "I am much obliged to you," laughed the young man. "You might have come | 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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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. "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."<|quote|>"I don t want you to come for your aunt,"</|quote|>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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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." 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. "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!" "Pray what is it that happens--here, for instance?" Winterbourne demanded. "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." "And where is the mother?" "I haven t the least idea. They are very dreadful people." Winterbourne meditated a moment. "They are very ignorant--very innocent only. Depend upon it they are not bad." "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." 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 | Daisy Miller |
said Daisy; | No speaker | to come for your aunt,"<|quote|>said Daisy;</|quote|>"I want you to come | "I don t want you to come for your aunt,"<|quote|>said Daisy;</|quote|>"I want you to come for me." And this was | solemnly to come down to Rome in the winter. "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." "I don t want you to come for your aunt,"<|quote|>said Daisy;</|quote|>"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 | 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. "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." "I don t want you to come for your aunt,"<|quote|>said Daisy;</|quote|>"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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with | 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. "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." "I don t want you to come for your aunt,"<|quote|>said Daisy;</|quote|>"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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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 | mean to say you are going back to Geneva?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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. "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." "I don t want you to come for your aunt,"<|quote|>said Daisy;</|quote|>"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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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." 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. "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!" "Pray what is it that happens--here, for instance?" Winterbourne demanded. "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 | 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. "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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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. "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." "I don t want you to come for your aunt,"<|quote|>said Daisy;</|quote|>"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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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." 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. "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!" "Pray what is it that happens--here, for instance?" Winterbourne demanded. "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." "And where is the mother?" "I haven t the least idea. They are very dreadful people." Winterbourne meditated a moment. "They are very ignorant--very innocent only. Depend upon it they are not bad." "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." 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. "I know you!" said Randolph. "I m sure you know a great many things," exclaimed Winterbourne, taking him by the hand. "How is your education coming on?" 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. "I told you I should come, you know," Winterbourne rejoined, smiling. "Well, I didn t believe it," said Miss Daisy. "I am much obliged to you," laughed the young man. "You might have come to see | is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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. "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." "I don t want you to come for your aunt,"<|quote|>said Daisy;</|quote|>"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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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." In the natural course of events, Winterbourne, on arriving in Rome, would presently have ascertained | Daisy Miller |
"I want you to come for me." | Daisy Miller | for your aunt," said Daisy;<|quote|>"I want you to come for me."</|quote|>And this was the only | t want you to come for your aunt," said Daisy;<|quote|>"I want you to come for me."</|quote|>And this was the only allusion that the young man | come down to Rome in the winter. "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." "I don t want you to come for your aunt," said Daisy;<|quote|>"I want you to come for me."</|quote|>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 | 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. "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." "I don t want you to come for your aunt," said Daisy;<|quote|>"I want you to come for me."</|quote|>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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello | 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. "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." "I don t want you to come for your aunt," said Daisy;<|quote|>"I want you to come for me."</|quote|>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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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 | say you are going back to Geneva?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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. "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." "I don t want you to come for your aunt," said Daisy;<|quote|>"I want you to come for me."</|quote|>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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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." 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. "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!" "Pray what is it that happens--here, for instance?" Winterbourne demanded. "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." "And where is the mother?" "I | 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. "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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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. "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." "I don t want you to come for your aunt," said Daisy;<|quote|>"I want you to come for me."</|quote|>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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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." 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. "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!" "Pray what is it that happens--here, for instance?" Winterbourne demanded. "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." "And where is the mother?" "I haven t the least idea. They are very dreadful people." Winterbourne meditated a moment. "They are very ignorant--very innocent only. Depend upon it they are not bad." "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." 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. "I know you!" said Randolph. "I m sure you know a great many things," exclaimed Winterbourne, taking him by the hand. "How is your education coming on?" 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. "I told you I should come, you know," Winterbourne rejoined, smiling. "Well, I didn t believe it," said Miss Daisy. "I am much obliged to you," laughed the young man. "You might have come to see me!" said Daisy. "I arrived only yesterday." | 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. "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." "I don t want you to come for your aunt," said Daisy;<|quote|>"I want you to come for me."</|quote|>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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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." 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. "If, after what happens--at Vevey and everywhere--you desire to | Daisy Miller |
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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. | No speaker | you to come for me."<|quote|>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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller.</|quote|>"The Americans--of the courier?" asked | aunt," said Daisy; "I want you to come for me."<|quote|>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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller.</|quote|>"The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said | "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." "I don t want you to come for your aunt," said Daisy; "I want you to come for me."<|quote|>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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller.</|quote|>"The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II Winterbourne, | 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. "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." "I don t want you to come for your aunt," said Daisy; "I want you to come for me."<|quote|>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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller.</|quote|>"The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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 | 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. "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." "I don t want you to come for your aunt," said Daisy; "I want you to come for me."<|quote|>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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller.</|quote|>"The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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." 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 | "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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. "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." "I don t want you to come for your aunt," said Daisy; "I want you to come for me."<|quote|>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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller.</|quote|>"The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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." 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. "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!" "Pray what is it that happens--here, for instance?" Winterbourne demanded. "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." "And where is the mother?" "I haven t the least idea. They are very dreadful people." Winterbourne meditated a moment. "They are very ignorant--very innocent only. Depend upon it they are not bad." "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." The news that Daisy Miller was surrounded | 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. "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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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. "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." "I don t want you to come for your aunt," said Daisy; "I want you to come for me."<|quote|>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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller.</|quote|>"The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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." 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. "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!" "Pray what is it that happens--here, for instance?" Winterbourne demanded. "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." "And where is the mother?" "I haven t the least idea. They are very dreadful people." Winterbourne meditated a moment. "They are very ignorant--very innocent only. Depend upon it they are not bad." "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." 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. "I know you!" said Randolph. "I m sure you know a great many things," exclaimed Winterbourne, taking him by the hand. "How is your education coming on?" 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. "I told you I should come, you know," Winterbourne rejoined, smiling. "Well, I didn t believe it," said Miss Daisy. "I am much obliged to you," laughed the young man. "You might have come to see me!" said Daisy. "I arrived only yesterday." "I don t believe that!" the young girl declared. 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." Mrs. Miller turned uneasily in her chair. "I told you if I were to bring you, you would say something!" she murmured. "I told | 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. "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." "I don t want you to come for your aunt," said Daisy; "I want you to come for me."<|quote|>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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller.</|quote|>"The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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." 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. "If, after what happens--at | Daisy Miller |
"The Americans--of the courier?" | Mrs. Costello | Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller.<|quote|>"The Americans--of the courier?"</|quote|>asked this lady. "Ah, happily," | had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller.<|quote|>"The Americans--of the courier?"</|quote|>asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed | 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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller.<|quote|>"The Americans--of the courier?"</|quote|>asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II Winterbourne, who had returned to | asked me to come and see her." "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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller.<|quote|>"The Americans--of the courier?"</|quote|>asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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, | 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. "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." "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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller.<|quote|>"The Americans--of the courier?"</|quote|>asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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." 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, | 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. "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." "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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller.<|quote|>"The Americans--of the courier?"</|quote|>asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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." 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. "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!" "Pray what is it that happens--here, for instance?" Winterbourne demanded. "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." "And where is the mother?" "I haven t the least idea. They are very dreadful people." Winterbourne meditated a moment. "They are very ignorant--very innocent only. Depend upon it they are not bad." "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." The news that Daisy Miller was surrounded by half a dozen | 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. "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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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. "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." "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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller.<|quote|>"The Americans--of the courier?"</|quote|>asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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." 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. "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!" "Pray what is it that happens--here, for instance?" Winterbourne demanded. "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." "And where is the mother?" "I haven t the least idea. They are very dreadful people." Winterbourne meditated a moment. "They are very ignorant--very innocent only. Depend upon it they are not bad." "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." 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. "I know you!" said Randolph. "I m sure you know a great many things," exclaimed Winterbourne, taking him by the hand. "How is your education coming on?" 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. "I told you I should come, you know," Winterbourne rejoined, smiling. "Well, I didn t believe it," said Miss Daisy. "I am much obliged to you," laughed the young man. "You might have come to see me!" said Daisy. "I arrived only yesterday." "I don t believe that!" the young girl declared. 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." Mrs. Miller turned uneasily in her chair. "I told you if I were to bring you, you would say something!" she murmured. "I told YOU!" Randolph exclaimed. "I | 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. "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." "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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller.<|quote|>"The Americans--of the courier?"</|quote|>asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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." 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. "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!" "Pray what is it that happens--here, for instance?" Winterbourne demanded. "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." "And where is the mother?" "I haven t the least idea. They are very dreadful people." Winterbourne meditated a moment. "They are very ignorant--very innocent only. Depend upon it they are not bad." "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." 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 | Daisy Miller |
asked this lady. | No speaker | Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?"<|quote|>asked this lady.</|quote|>"Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the | at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?"<|quote|>asked this lady.</|quote|>"Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She | 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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?"<|quote|>asked this lady.</|quote|>"Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II Winterbourne, who had returned to Geneva the day | and see her." "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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?"<|quote|>asked this lady.</|quote|>"Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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," | 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. "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." "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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?"<|quote|>asked this lady.</|quote|>"Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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." 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 | 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. "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." "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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?"<|quote|>asked this lady.</|quote|>"Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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." 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. "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!" "Pray what is it that happens--here, for instance?" Winterbourne demanded. "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." "And where is the mother?" "I haven t the least idea. They are very dreadful people." Winterbourne meditated a moment. "They are very ignorant--very innocent only. Depend upon it they are not bad." "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." The news that Daisy Miller was surrounded by half a dozen wonderful mustaches checked | 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. "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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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. "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." "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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?"<|quote|>asked this lady.</|quote|>"Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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." 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. "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!" "Pray what is it that happens--here, for instance?" Winterbourne demanded. "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." "And where is the mother?" "I haven t the least idea. They are very dreadful people." Winterbourne meditated a moment. "They are very ignorant--very innocent only. Depend upon it they are not bad." "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." 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. "I know you!" said Randolph. "I m sure you know a great many things," exclaimed Winterbourne, taking him by the hand. "How is your education coming on?" 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. "I told you I should come, you know," Winterbourne rejoined, smiling. "Well, I didn t believe it," said Miss Daisy. "I am much obliged to you," laughed the young man. "You might have come to see me!" said Daisy. "I arrived only yesterday." "I don t believe that!" the young girl declared. 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." Mrs. Miller turned uneasily in her chair. "I told you if I were to bring you, you would say something!" she murmured. "I told YOU!" Randolph exclaimed. "I tell YOU, sir!" | 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. "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." "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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?"<|quote|>asked this lady.</|quote|>"Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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." 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. "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!" "Pray what is it that happens--here, for instance?" Winterbourne demanded. "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." "And where is the mother?" "I haven t the least idea. They are very dreadful people." Winterbourne meditated a moment. "They are very ignorant--very innocent only. Depend upon it they are not bad." "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." 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. | Daisy Miller |
"Ah, happily," | Winterbourne | the courier?" asked this lady.<|quote|>"Ah, happily,"</|quote|>said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed | Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady.<|quote|>"Ah, happily,"</|quote|>said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with | this Daisy stopped teasing. Winterbourne took a carriage, and they drove back to Vevey in the dusk; the young girl was very quiet. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady.<|quote|>"Ah, happily,"</|quote|>said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II Winterbourne, who had returned to Geneva the day after his | "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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady.<|quote|>"Ah, happily,"</|quote|>said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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. | 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. "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." "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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady.<|quote|>"Ah, happily,"</|quote|>said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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." 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 | 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. "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." "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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady.<|quote|>"Ah, happily,"</|quote|>said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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." 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. "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!" "Pray what is it that happens--here, for instance?" Winterbourne demanded. "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." "And where is the mother?" "I haven t the least idea. They are very dreadful people." Winterbourne meditated a moment. "They are very ignorant--very innocent only. Depend upon it they are not bad." "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." The news that Daisy Miller was surrounded by half a dozen wonderful mustaches checked Winterbourne s | 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. "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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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. "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." "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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady.<|quote|>"Ah, happily,"</|quote|>said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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." 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. "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!" "Pray what is it that happens--here, for instance?" Winterbourne demanded. "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." "And where is the mother?" "I haven t the least idea. They are very dreadful people." Winterbourne meditated a moment. "They are very ignorant--very innocent only. Depend upon it they are not bad." "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." 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. "I know you!" said Randolph. "I m sure you know a great many things," exclaimed Winterbourne, taking him by the hand. "How is your education coming on?" 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. "I told you I should come, you know," Winterbourne rejoined, smiling. "Well, I didn t believe it," said Miss Daisy. "I am much obliged to you," laughed the young man. "You might have come to see me!" said Daisy. "I arrived only yesterday." "I don t believe that!" the young girl declared. 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." Mrs. Miller turned uneasily in her chair. "I told you if I were to bring you, you would say something!" she murmured. "I told YOU!" Randolph exclaimed. "I tell YOU, sir!" he added | said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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. "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." "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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady.<|quote|>"Ah, happily,"</|quote|>said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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." 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. "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!" "Pray what is it that happens--here, for instance?" Winterbourne demanded. "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." "And where is the mother?" "I haven t the least idea. They are very dreadful people." Winterbourne meditated a moment. "They are very ignorant--very innocent only. Depend upon it they are not bad." "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." 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 | Daisy Miller |
said Winterbourne, | No speaker | asked this lady. "Ah, happily,"<|quote|>said Winterbourne,</|quote|>"the courier stayed at home." | Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily,"<|quote|>said Winterbourne,</|quote|>"the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all | stopped teasing. Winterbourne took a carriage, and they drove back to Vevey in the dusk; the young girl was very quiet. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily,"<|quote|>said Winterbourne,</|quote|>"the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II Winterbourne, who had returned to Geneva the day after his excursion to | 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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily,"<|quote|>said Winterbourne,</|quote|>"the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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 | 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. "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." "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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily,"<|quote|>said Winterbourne,</|quote|>"the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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." 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 | 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. "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." "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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily,"<|quote|>said Winterbourne,</|quote|>"the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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." 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. "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!" "Pray what is it that happens--here, for instance?" Winterbourne demanded. "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." "And where is the mother?" "I haven t the least idea. They are very dreadful people." Winterbourne meditated a moment. "They are very ignorant--very innocent only. Depend upon it they are not bad." "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." The news that Daisy Miller was surrounded by half a dozen wonderful mustaches checked Winterbourne s impulse to | 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. "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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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. "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." "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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily,"<|quote|>said Winterbourne,</|quote|>"the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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." 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. "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!" "Pray what is it that happens--here, for instance?" Winterbourne demanded. "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." "And where is the mother?" "I haven t the least idea. They are very dreadful people." Winterbourne meditated a moment. "They are very ignorant--very innocent only. Depend upon it they are not bad." "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." 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. "I know you!" said Randolph. "I m sure you know a great many things," exclaimed Winterbourne, taking him by the hand. "How is your education coming on?" 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. "I told you I should come, you know," Winterbourne rejoined, smiling. "Well, I didn t believe it," said Miss Daisy. "I am much obliged to you," laughed the young man. "You might have come to see me!" said Daisy. "I arrived only yesterday." "I don t believe that!" the young girl declared. 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." Mrs. Miller turned uneasily in her chair. "I told you if I were to bring you, you would say something!" she murmured. "I told YOU!" Randolph exclaimed. "I tell YOU, sir!" he added jocosely, giving | 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. "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." "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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily,"<|quote|>said Winterbourne,</|quote|>"the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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." 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. "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!" "Pray what is it that happens--here, for instance?" Winterbourne demanded. "The girl goes about alone with her | Daisy Miller |
"the courier stayed at home." | Winterbourne | lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne,<|quote|>"the courier stayed at home."</|quote|>"She went with you all | Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne,<|quote|>"the courier stayed at home."</|quote|>"She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello | Winterbourne took a carriage, and they drove back to Vevey in the dusk; the young girl was very quiet. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne,<|quote|>"the courier stayed at home."</|quote|>"She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II Winterbourne, who had returned to Geneva the day after his excursion to Chillon, went to Rome toward | 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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne,<|quote|>"the courier stayed at home."</|quote|>"She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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, | 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. "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." "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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne,<|quote|>"the courier stayed at home."</|quote|>"She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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." 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. | 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. "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." "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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne,<|quote|>"the courier stayed at home."</|quote|>"She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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." 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. "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!" "Pray what is it that happens--here, for instance?" Winterbourne demanded. "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." "And where is the mother?" "I haven t the least idea. They are very dreadful people." Winterbourne meditated a moment. "They are very ignorant--very innocent only. Depend upon it they are not bad." "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." The news that Daisy Miller was surrounded by half a dozen wonderful mustaches checked Winterbourne s impulse to go straightway to see her. | 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. "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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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. "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." "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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne,<|quote|>"the courier stayed at home."</|quote|>"She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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." 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. "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!" "Pray what is it that happens--here, for instance?" Winterbourne demanded. "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." "And where is the mother?" "I haven t the least idea. They are very dreadful people." Winterbourne meditated a moment. "They are very ignorant--very innocent only. Depend upon it they are not bad." "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." 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. "I know you!" said Randolph. "I m sure you know a great many things," exclaimed Winterbourne, taking him by the hand. "How is your education coming on?" 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. "I told you I should come, you know," Winterbourne rejoined, smiling. "Well, I didn t believe it," said Miss Daisy. "I am much obliged to you," laughed the young man. "You might have come to see me!" said Daisy. "I arrived only yesterday." "I don t believe that!" the young girl declared. 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." Mrs. Miller turned uneasily in her chair. "I told you if I were to bring you, you would say something!" she murmured. "I told YOU!" Randolph exclaimed. "I tell YOU, sir!" he added jocosely, giving Winterbourne a thump on the | 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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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. "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." "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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne,<|quote|>"the courier stayed at home."</|quote|>"She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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." 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. "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!" "Pray what is it that happens--here, for instance?" Winterbourne demanded. "The girl goes about alone with her foreigners. As to what happens further, you must | Daisy Miller |
"She went with you all alone?" | Mrs. Costello | "the courier stayed at home."<|quote|>"She went with you all alone?"</|quote|>"All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed | lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home."<|quote|>"She went with you all alone?"</|quote|>"All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling | they drove back to Vevey in the dusk; the young girl was very quiet. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home."<|quote|>"She went with you all alone?"</|quote|>"All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II Winterbourne, who had returned to Geneva the day after his excursion to Chillon, went to Rome toward the end of January. His aunt | 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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home."<|quote|>"She went with you all alone?"</|quote|>"All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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 | 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. "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." "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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home."<|quote|>"She went with you all alone?"</|quote|>"All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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." 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. "If, after what happens--at Vevey | 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. "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." "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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home."<|quote|>"She went with you all alone?"</|quote|>"All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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." 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. "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!" "Pray what is it that happens--here, for instance?" Winterbourne demanded. "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." "And where is the mother?" "I haven t the least idea. They are very dreadful people." Winterbourne meditated a moment. "They are very ignorant--very innocent only. Depend upon it they are not bad." "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." 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 | 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. "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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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. "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." "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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home."<|quote|>"She went with you all alone?"</|quote|>"All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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." 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. "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!" "Pray what is it that happens--here, for instance?" Winterbourne demanded. "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." "And where is the mother?" "I haven t the least idea. They are very dreadful people." Winterbourne meditated a moment. "They are very ignorant--very innocent only. Depend upon it they are not bad." "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." 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. "I know you!" said Randolph. "I m sure you know a great many things," exclaimed Winterbourne, taking him by the hand. "How is your education coming on?" 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. "I told you I should come, you know," Winterbourne rejoined, smiling. "Well, I didn t believe it," said Miss Daisy. "I am much obliged to you," laughed the young man. "You might have come to see me!" said Daisy. "I arrived only yesterday." "I don t believe that!" the young girl declared. 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." Mrs. Miller turned uneasily in her chair. "I told you if I were to bring you, you would say something!" she murmured. "I told YOU!" Randolph exclaimed. "I tell YOU, sir!" he added jocosely, giving Winterbourne a thump on the knee. "It IS bigger, too!" Daisy | 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. "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." "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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home."<|quote|>"She went with you all alone?"</|quote|>"All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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." 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. "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!" "Pray what is it that happens--here, for instance?" Winterbourne demanded. "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." "And where is the mother?" "I haven t the least idea. They are very dreadful people." Winterbourne meditated a moment. "They are very ignorant--very innocent only. Depend upon it they are not bad." "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." 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 | Daisy Miller |
"All alone." | Winterbourne | went with you all alone?"<|quote|>"All alone."</|quote|>Mrs. Costello sniffed a little | courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?"<|quote|>"All alone."</|quote|>Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And | the dusk; the young girl was very quiet. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?"<|quote|>"All alone."</|quote|>Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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 | 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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?"<|quote|>"All alone."</|quote|>Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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 | 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. "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." "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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?"<|quote|>"All alone."</|quote|>Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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." 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. "If, after what happens--at Vevey and everywhere--you | 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. "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." "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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?"<|quote|>"All alone."</|quote|>Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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." 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. "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!" "Pray what is it that happens--here, for instance?" Winterbourne demanded. "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." "And where is the mother?" "I haven t the least idea. They are very dreadful people." Winterbourne meditated a moment. "They are very ignorant--very innocent only. Depend upon it they are not bad." "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." 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 | 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. "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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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. "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." "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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?"<|quote|>"All alone."</|quote|>Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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." 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. "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!" "Pray what is it that happens--here, for instance?" Winterbourne demanded. "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." "And where is the mother?" "I haven t the least idea. They are very dreadful people." Winterbourne meditated a moment. "They are very ignorant--very innocent only. Depend upon it they are not bad." "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." 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. "I know you!" said Randolph. "I m sure you know a great many things," exclaimed Winterbourne, taking him by the hand. "How is your education coming on?" 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. "I told you I should come, you know," Winterbourne rejoined, smiling. "Well, I didn t believe it," said Miss Daisy. "I am much obliged to you," laughed the young man. "You might have come to see me!" said Daisy. "I arrived only yesterday." "I don t believe that!" the young girl declared. 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." Mrs. Miller turned uneasily in her chair. "I told you if I were to bring you, you would say something!" she murmured. "I told YOU!" Randolph exclaimed. "I tell YOU, sir!" he added jocosely, giving Winterbourne a thump on the knee. "It IS bigger, too!" Daisy had entered | 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. "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." "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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?"<|quote|>"All alone."</|quote|>Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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." 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. "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!" "Pray | Daisy Miller |
Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. | No speaker | you all alone?" "All alone."<|quote|>Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle.</|quote|>"And that," she exclaimed, "is | at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone."<|quote|>Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle.</|quote|>"And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you | the young girl was very quiet. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone."<|quote|>Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle.</|quote|>"And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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 | 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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone."<|quote|>Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle.</|quote|>"And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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 | 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. "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." "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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone."<|quote|>Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle.</|quote|>"And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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." 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. "If, after what happens--at Vevey and everywhere--you desire to keep up the acquaintance, you are very | 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. "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." "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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone."<|quote|>Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle.</|quote|>"And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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." 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. "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!" "Pray what is it that happens--here, for instance?" Winterbourne demanded. "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." "And where is the mother?" "I haven t the least idea. They are very dreadful people." Winterbourne meditated a moment. "They are very ignorant--very innocent only. Depend upon it they are not bad." "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." 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, | 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. "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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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. "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." "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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone."<|quote|>Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle.</|quote|>"And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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." 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. "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!" "Pray what is it that happens--here, for instance?" Winterbourne demanded. "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." "And where is the mother?" "I haven t the least idea. They are very dreadful people." Winterbourne meditated a moment. "They are very ignorant--very innocent only. Depend upon it they are not bad." "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." 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. "I know you!" said Randolph. "I m sure you know a great many things," exclaimed Winterbourne, taking him by the hand. "How is your education coming on?" 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. "I told you I should come, you know," Winterbourne rejoined, smiling. "Well, I didn t believe it," said Miss Daisy. "I am much obliged to you," laughed the young man. "You might have come to see me!" said Daisy. "I arrived only yesterday." "I don t believe that!" the young girl declared. 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." Mrs. Miller turned uneasily in her chair. "I told you if I were to bring you, you would say something!" she murmured. "I told YOU!" Randolph exclaimed. "I tell YOU, sir!" he added jocosely, giving Winterbourne a thump on the knee. "It IS bigger, too!" Daisy had entered upon a lively conversation with her hostess; Winterbourne judged | 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. "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." "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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone."<|quote|>Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle.</|quote|>"And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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." 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. "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!" "Pray what is it that happens--here, for instance?" Winterbourne demanded. "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." "And where is the mother?" "I haven t the least idea. They are very dreadful people." Winterbourne meditated a moment. "They are very ignorant--very innocent only. Depend upon it they are not bad." "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." The news that Daisy Miller was | Daisy Miller |
"And that," | Mrs. Costello | little at her smelling bottle.<|quote|>"And that,"</|quote|>she exclaimed, "is the young | alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle.<|quote|>"And that,"</|quote|>she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me | Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle.<|quote|>"And that,"</|quote|>she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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 | 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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle.<|quote|>"And that,"</|quote|>she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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 | 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. "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." "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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle.<|quote|>"And that,"</|quote|>she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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." 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. "If, after what happens--at Vevey and everywhere--you desire to keep up the acquaintance, you are very welcome. Of | 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. "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." "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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle.<|quote|>"And that,"</|quote|>she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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." 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. "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!" "Pray what is it that happens--here, for instance?" Winterbourne demanded. "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." "And where is the mother?" "I haven t the least idea. They are very dreadful people." Winterbourne meditated a moment. "They are very ignorant--very innocent only. Depend upon it they are not bad." "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." 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 | 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. "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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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. "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." "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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle.<|quote|>"And that,"</|quote|>she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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." 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. "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!" "Pray what is it that happens--here, for instance?" Winterbourne demanded. "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." "And where is the mother?" "I haven t the least idea. They are very dreadful people." Winterbourne meditated a moment. "They are very ignorant--very innocent only. Depend upon it they are not bad." "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." 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. "I know you!" said Randolph. "I m sure you know a great many things," exclaimed Winterbourne, taking him by the hand. "How is your education coming on?" 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. "I told you I should come, you know," Winterbourne rejoined, smiling. "Well, I didn t believe it," said Miss Daisy. "I am much obliged to you," laughed the young man. "You might have come to see me!" said Daisy. "I arrived only yesterday." "I don t believe that!" the young girl declared. 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." Mrs. Miller turned uneasily in her chair. "I told you if I were to bring you, you would say something!" she murmured. "I told YOU!" Randolph exclaimed. "I tell YOU, sir!" he added jocosely, giving Winterbourne a thump on the knee. "It IS bigger, too!" Daisy had entered upon a lively conversation with her hostess; Winterbourne judged it becoming | fireplace, she broke out irrelevantly, "You don t mean to say you are going back to Geneva?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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. "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." "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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle.<|quote|>"And that,"</|quote|>she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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." 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. "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!" "Pray what is it that happens--here, for instance?" Winterbourne demanded. "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." "And where is the mother?" "I haven t the least idea. They are very dreadful people." Winterbourne meditated a moment. "They are very ignorant--very innocent only. Depend upon it they are not bad." "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." 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 | Daisy Miller |
she exclaimed, | No speaker | her smelling bottle. "And that,"<|quote|>she exclaimed,</|quote|>"is the young person whom | Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that,"<|quote|>she exclaimed,</|quote|>"is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" | to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that,"<|quote|>she exclaimed,</|quote|>"is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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 | 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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that,"<|quote|>she exclaimed,</|quote|>"is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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, | 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. "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." "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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that,"<|quote|>she exclaimed,</|quote|>"is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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." 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. "If, after what happens--at Vevey and everywhere--you desire to keep up the acquaintance, you are very welcome. Of course a | 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. "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." "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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that,"<|quote|>she exclaimed,</|quote|>"is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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." 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. "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!" "Pray what is it that happens--here, for instance?" Winterbourne demanded. "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." "And where is the mother?" "I haven t the least idea. They are very dreadful people." Winterbourne meditated a moment. "They are very ignorant--very innocent only. Depend upon it they are not bad." "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." 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 | 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. "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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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. "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." "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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that,"<|quote|>she exclaimed,</|quote|>"is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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." 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. "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!" "Pray what is it that happens--here, for instance?" Winterbourne demanded. "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." "And where is the mother?" "I haven t the least idea. They are very dreadful people." Winterbourne meditated a moment. "They are very ignorant--very innocent only. Depend upon it they are not bad." "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." 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. "I know you!" said Randolph. "I m sure you know a great many things," exclaimed Winterbourne, taking him by the hand. "How is your education coming on?" 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. "I told you I should come, you know," Winterbourne rejoined, smiling. "Well, I didn t believe it," said Miss Daisy. "I am much obliged to you," laughed the young man. "You might have come to see me!" said Daisy. "I arrived only yesterday." "I don t believe that!" the young girl declared. 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." Mrs. Miller turned uneasily in her chair. "I told you if I were to bring you, you would say something!" she murmured. "I told YOU!" Randolph exclaimed. "I tell YOU, sir!" he added jocosely, giving Winterbourne a thump on the knee. "It IS bigger, too!" Daisy had entered upon a lively conversation with her hostess; Winterbourne judged it becoming to address | 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. "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." "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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that,"<|quote|>she exclaimed,</|quote|>"is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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." 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. "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!" "Pray what is it that happens--here, for instance?" Winterbourne demanded. "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." "And where is the mother?" "I haven t the least idea. They are very dreadful people." Winterbourne meditated a moment. "They are very ignorant--very innocent only. Depend upon it they are not bad." "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." 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 | Daisy Miller |
"is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" | Mrs. Costello | bottle. "And that," she exclaimed,<|quote|>"is the young person whom you wanted me to know!"</|quote|>PART II Winterbourne, who had | a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed,<|quote|>"is the young person whom you wanted me to know!"</|quote|>PART II Winterbourne, who had returned to Geneva the day | Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed,<|quote|>"is the young person whom you wanted me to know!"</|quote|>PART II 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 | 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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed,<|quote|>"is the young person whom you wanted me to know!"</|quote|>PART II 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 | 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. "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." "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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed,<|quote|>"is the young person whom you wanted me to know!"</|quote|>PART II 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." 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. "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!" | 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. "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." "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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed,<|quote|>"is the young person whom you wanted me to know!"</|quote|>PART II 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." 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. "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!" "Pray what is it that happens--here, for instance?" Winterbourne demanded. "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." "And where is the mother?" "I haven t the least idea. They are very dreadful people." Winterbourne meditated a moment. "They are very ignorant--very innocent only. Depend upon it they are not bad." "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." 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 | 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. "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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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. "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." "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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed,<|quote|>"is the young person whom you wanted me to know!"</|quote|>PART II 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." 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. "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!" "Pray what is it that happens--here, for instance?" Winterbourne demanded. "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." "And where is the mother?" "I haven t the least idea. They are very dreadful people." Winterbourne meditated a moment. "They are very ignorant--very innocent only. Depend upon it they are not bad." "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." 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. "I know you!" said Randolph. "I m sure you know a great many things," exclaimed Winterbourne, taking him by the hand. "How is your education coming on?" 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. "I told you I should come, you know," Winterbourne rejoined, smiling. "Well, I didn t believe it," said Miss Daisy. "I am much obliged to you," laughed the young man. "You might have come to see me!" said Daisy. "I arrived only yesterday." "I don t believe that!" the young girl declared. 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." Mrs. Miller turned uneasily in her chair. "I told you if I were to bring you, you would say something!" she murmured. "I told YOU!" Randolph exclaimed. "I tell YOU, sir!" he added jocosely, giving Winterbourne a thump on the knee. "It IS bigger, too!" 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 | 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. "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." "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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed,<|quote|>"is the young person whom you wanted me to know!"</|quote|>PART II 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." 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. "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!" "Pray what is it that happens--here, for instance?" Winterbourne demanded. "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." "And where is the mother?" "I haven t the least idea. They are very dreadful people." Winterbourne meditated a moment. "They are very ignorant--very innocent only. Depend upon it they are not bad." "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." 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, | Daisy Miller |
PART II 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." 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. | No speaker | you wanted me to know!"<|quote|>PART II 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." 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.</|quote|>"After what happened at Vevey, | "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!"<|quote|>PART II 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." 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.</|quote|>"After what happened at Vevey, I think I may certainly | Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!"<|quote|>PART II 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." 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.</|quote|>"After what happened at Vevey, I think I may certainly call upon them," he said to Mrs. Costello. "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!" "Pray what | 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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!"<|quote|>PART II 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." 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.</|quote|>"After what happened at Vevey, I think I may certainly call upon them," he said to Mrs. Costello. "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!" "Pray what is it that happens--here, for instance?" Winterbourne demanded. "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 | 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. "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." "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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!"<|quote|>PART II 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." 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.</|quote|>"After what happened at Vevey, I think I may certainly call upon them," he said to Mrs. Costello. "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!" "Pray what is it that happens--here, for instance?" Winterbourne demanded. "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." "And where is the mother?" "I haven t the least idea. They are very dreadful people." Winterbourne meditated a moment. "They are very ignorant--very innocent only. Depend upon it they are not bad." "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." The news that Daisy Miller was | 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. "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." "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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!"<|quote|>PART II 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." 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.</|quote|>"After what happened at Vevey, I think I may certainly call upon them," he said to Mrs. Costello. "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!" "Pray what is it that happens--here, for instance?" Winterbourne demanded. "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." "And where is the mother?" "I haven t the least idea. They are very dreadful people." Winterbourne meditated a moment. "They are very ignorant--very innocent only. Depend upon it they are not bad." "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." 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 | 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. "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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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. "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." "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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!"<|quote|>PART II 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." 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.</|quote|>"After what happened at Vevey, I think I may certainly call upon them," he said to Mrs. Costello. "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!" "Pray what is it that happens--here, for instance?" Winterbourne demanded. "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." "And where is the mother?" "I haven t the least idea. They are very dreadful people." Winterbourne meditated a moment. "They are very ignorant--very innocent only. Depend upon it they are not bad." "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." 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. "I know you!" said Randolph. "I m sure you know a great many things," exclaimed Winterbourne, taking him by the hand. "How is your education coming on?" 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. "I told you I should come, you know," Winterbourne rejoined, smiling. "Well, I didn t believe it," said Miss Daisy. "I am much obliged to you," laughed the young man. "You might have come to see me!" said Daisy. "I arrived only yesterday." "I don t believe that!" the young girl declared. 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." Mrs. Miller turned uneasily in her chair. "I told you if I were to bring you, you would say something!" she murmured. "I told YOU!" Randolph exclaimed. "I tell YOU, sir!" he added jocosely, giving Winterbourne a thump on the knee. "It IS bigger, too!" 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. Mrs. Miller now certainly looked at him--at his chin. "Not very well, sir," she answered. "She s got the dyspepsia," said Randolph. "I ve got it too. Father s got it. I ve got it most!" 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 | 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. "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." "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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!"<|quote|>PART II 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." 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.</|quote|>"After what happened at Vevey, I think I may certainly call upon them," he said to Mrs. Costello. "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!" "Pray what is it that happens--here, for instance?" Winterbourne demanded. "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." "And where is the mother?" "I haven t the least idea. They are very dreadful people." Winterbourne meditated a moment. "They are very ignorant--very innocent only. Depend upon it they are not bad." "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." 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. "I know you!" said Randolph. "I m sure you know a great many things," exclaimed Winterbourne, taking him by the hand. "How is your education coming on?" 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. "I told you I should come, you know," Winterbourne rejoined, smiling. "Well, I didn t believe it," said Miss Daisy. "I am much obliged to you," laughed the young man. "You might have come to see me!" said Daisy. "I arrived only yesterday." "I don t believe that!" the young girl declared. 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." Mrs. Miller turned uneasily in her chair. "I told you if | Daisy Miller |
"After what happened at Vevey, I think I may certainly call upon them," | Winterbourne | his compliments to Miss Daisy.<|quote|>"After what happened at Vevey, I think I may certainly call upon them,"</|quote|>he said to Mrs. Costello. | and have gone to pay his compliments to Miss Daisy.<|quote|>"After what happened at Vevey, I think I may certainly call upon them,"</|quote|>he said to Mrs. Costello. "If, after what happens--at Vevey | Bring me that pretty novel of Cherbuliez s--Paule Mere--and don t come later than the 23rd." 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.<|quote|>"After what happened at Vevey, I think I may certainly call upon them,"</|quote|>he said to Mrs. Costello. "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!" "Pray what is it that happens--here, for instance?" Winterbourne demanded. "The girl goes about alone | 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." 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.<|quote|>"After what happened at Vevey, I think I may certainly call upon them,"</|quote|>he said to Mrs. Costello. "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!" "Pray what is it that happens--here, for instance?" Winterbourne demanded. "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 | Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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." 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.<|quote|>"After what happened at Vevey, I think I may certainly call upon them,"</|quote|>he said to Mrs. Costello. "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!" "Pray what is it that happens--here, for instance?" Winterbourne demanded. "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." "And where is the mother?" "I haven t the least idea. They are very dreadful people." Winterbourne meditated a moment. "They are very ignorant--very innocent only. Depend upon it they are not bad." "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." The news that Daisy Miller was surrounded by half a dozen wonderful mustaches checked Winterbourne s impulse to go | 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. "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." "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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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." 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.<|quote|>"After what happened at Vevey, I think I may certainly call upon them,"</|quote|>he said to Mrs. Costello. "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!" "Pray what is it that happens--here, for instance?" Winterbourne demanded. "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." "And where is the mother?" "I haven t the least idea. They are very dreadful people." Winterbourne meditated a moment. "They are very ignorant--very innocent only. Depend upon it they are not bad." "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." 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 | 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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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. "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." "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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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." 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.<|quote|>"After what happened at Vevey, I think I may certainly call upon them,"</|quote|>he said to Mrs. Costello. "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!" "Pray what is it that happens--here, for instance?" Winterbourne demanded. "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." "And where is the mother?" "I haven t the least idea. They are very dreadful people." Winterbourne meditated a moment. "They are very ignorant--very innocent only. Depend upon it they are not bad." "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." 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. "I know you!" said Randolph. "I m sure you know a great many things," exclaimed Winterbourne, taking him by the hand. "How is your education coming on?" 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. "I told you I should come, you know," Winterbourne rejoined, smiling. "Well, I didn t believe it," said Miss Daisy. "I am much obliged to you," laughed the young man. "You might have come to see me!" said Daisy. "I arrived only yesterday." "I don t believe that!" the young girl declared. 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." Mrs. Miller turned uneasily in her chair. "I told you if I were to bring you, you would say something!" she murmured. "I told YOU!" Randolph exclaimed. "I tell YOU, sir!" he added jocosely, giving Winterbourne a thump on the knee. "It IS bigger, too!" 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. Mrs. Miller now certainly looked at him--at his chin. "Not very well, sir," she answered. "She s got the dyspepsia," said Randolph. "I ve got it too. Father s got it. I ve got it most!" 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 | to come and see her." "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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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." 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.<|quote|>"After what happened at Vevey, I think I may certainly call upon them,"</|quote|>he said to Mrs. Costello. "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!" "Pray what is it that happens--here, for instance?" Winterbourne demanded. "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." "And where is the mother?" "I haven t the least idea. They are very dreadful people." Winterbourne meditated a moment. "They are very ignorant--very innocent only. Depend upon it they are not bad." "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." 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 | Daisy Miller |
he said to Mrs. Costello. | No speaker | may certainly call upon them,"<|quote|>he said to Mrs. Costello.</|quote|>"If, after what happens--at Vevey | at Vevey, I think I may certainly call upon them,"<|quote|>he said to Mrs. Costello.</|quote|>"If, after what happens--at Vevey and everywhere--you desire to keep | than the 23rd." 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,"<|quote|>he said to Mrs. Costello.</|quote|>"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!" "Pray what is it that happens--here, for instance?" Winterbourne demanded. "The girl goes about alone with her foreigners. As 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." 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,"<|quote|>he said to Mrs. Costello.</|quote|>"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!" "Pray what is it that happens--here, for instance?" Winterbourne demanded. "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 | courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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." 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,"<|quote|>he said to Mrs. Costello.</|quote|>"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!" "Pray what is it that happens--here, for instance?" Winterbourne demanded. "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." "And where is the mother?" "I haven t the least idea. They are very dreadful people." Winterbourne meditated a moment. "They are very ignorant--very innocent only. Depend upon it they are not bad." "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." The news that Daisy Miller was surrounded by half a dozen wonderful mustaches checked Winterbourne s impulse to go straightway to see her. He | 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. "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." "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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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." 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,"<|quote|>he said to Mrs. Costello.</|quote|>"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!" "Pray what is it that happens--here, for instance?" Winterbourne demanded. "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." "And where is the mother?" "I haven t the least idea. They are very dreadful people." Winterbourne meditated a moment. "They are very ignorant--very innocent only. Depend upon it they are not bad." "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." 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 | 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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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. "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." "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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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." 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,"<|quote|>he said to Mrs. Costello.</|quote|>"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!" "Pray what is it that happens--here, for instance?" Winterbourne demanded. "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." "And where is the mother?" "I haven t the least idea. They are very dreadful people." Winterbourne meditated a moment. "They are very ignorant--very innocent only. Depend upon it they are not bad." "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." 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. "I know you!" said Randolph. "I m sure you know a great many things," exclaimed Winterbourne, taking him by the hand. "How is your education coming on?" 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. "I told you I should come, you know," Winterbourne rejoined, smiling. "Well, I didn t believe it," said Miss Daisy. "I am much obliged to you," laughed the young man. "You might have come to see me!" said Daisy. "I arrived only yesterday." "I don t believe that!" the young girl declared. 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." Mrs. Miller turned uneasily in her chair. "I told you if I were to bring you, you would say something!" she murmured. "I told YOU!" Randolph exclaimed. "I tell YOU, sir!" he added jocosely, giving Winterbourne a thump on the knee. "It IS bigger, too!" 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. Mrs. Miller now certainly looked at him--at his chin. "Not very well, sir," she answered. "She s got the dyspepsia," said Randolph. "I ve got it too. Father s got it. I ve got it most!" 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 | 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. "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." "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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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." 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,"<|quote|>he said to Mrs. Costello.</|quote|>"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!" "Pray what is it that happens--here, for instance?" Winterbourne demanded. "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." "And where is the mother?" "I haven t the least idea. They are very dreadful people." Winterbourne meditated a moment. "They are very ignorant--very innocent only. Depend upon it they are not bad." "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." 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 | Daisy Miller |
"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!" | Mrs. Costello | he said to Mrs. Costello.<|quote|>"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!"</|quote|>"Pray what is it that | may certainly call upon them," he said to Mrs. Costello.<|quote|>"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!"</|quote|>"Pray what is it that happens--here, for instance?" Winterbourne demanded. | 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.<|quote|>"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!"</|quote|>"Pray what is it that happens--here, for instance?" Winterbourne demanded. "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 | 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." 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.<|quote|>"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!"</|quote|>"Pray what is it that happens--here, for instance?" Winterbourne demanded. "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." "And where is the mother?" "I haven t the least idea. They are very dreadful people." Winterbourne meditated a moment. "They are very ignorant--very innocent only. Depend | went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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." 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.<|quote|>"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!"</|quote|>"Pray what is it that happens--here, for instance?" Winterbourne demanded. "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." "And where is the mother?" "I haven t the least idea. They are very dreadful people." Winterbourne meditated a moment. "They are very ignorant--very innocent only. Depend upon it they are not bad." "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." 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 | 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. "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." "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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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." 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.<|quote|>"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!"</|quote|>"Pray what is it that happens--here, for instance?" Winterbourne demanded. "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." "And where is the mother?" "I haven t the least idea. They are very dreadful people." Winterbourne meditated a moment. "They are very ignorant--very innocent only. Depend upon it they are not bad." "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." 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. "I know you!" said Randolph. "I m sure you know a great many things," exclaimed Winterbourne, taking | 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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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. "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." "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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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." 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.<|quote|>"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!"</|quote|>"Pray what is it that happens--here, for instance?" Winterbourne demanded. "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." "And where is the mother?" "I haven t the least idea. They are very dreadful people." Winterbourne meditated a moment. "They are very ignorant--very innocent only. Depend upon it they are not bad." "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." 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. "I know you!" said Randolph. "I m sure you know a great many things," exclaimed Winterbourne, taking him by the hand. "How is your education coming on?" 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. "I told you I should come, you know," Winterbourne rejoined, smiling. "Well, I didn t believe it," said Miss Daisy. "I am much obliged to you," laughed the young man. "You might have come to see me!" said Daisy. "I arrived only yesterday." "I don t believe that!" the young girl declared. 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." Mrs. Miller turned uneasily in her chair. "I told you if I were to bring you, you would say something!" she murmured. "I told YOU!" Randolph exclaimed. "I tell YOU, sir!" he added jocosely, giving Winterbourne a thump on the knee. "It IS bigger, too!" 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. Mrs. Miller now certainly looked at him--at his chin. "Not very well, sir," she answered. "She s got the dyspepsia," said Randolph. "I ve got it too. Father s got it. I ve got it most!" 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 | 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. "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." "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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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." 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.<|quote|>"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!"</|quote|>"Pray what is it that happens--here, for instance?" Winterbourne demanded. "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." "And where is the mother?" "I haven t the least idea. They are very dreadful people." Winterbourne meditated a moment. "They are very ignorant--very innocent only. Depend upon it they are not bad." "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." 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 | Daisy Miller |
"Pray what is it that happens--here, for instance?" | Winterbourne | are welcome to the privilege!"<|quote|>"Pray what is it that happens--here, for instance?"</|quote|>Winterbourne demanded. "The girl goes | man may know everyone. Men are welcome to the privilege!"<|quote|>"Pray what is it that happens--here, for instance?"</|quote|>Winterbourne demanded. "The girl goes about alone with her foreigners. | Miss Daisy. "After what happened at Vevey, I think I may certainly call upon them," he said to Mrs. Costello. "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!"<|quote|>"Pray what is it that happens--here, for instance?"</|quote|>Winterbourne demanded. "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 | much talk. Bring me that pretty novel of Cherbuliez s--Paule Mere--and don t come later than the 23rd." 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. "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!"<|quote|>"Pray what is it that happens--here, for instance?"</|quote|>Winterbourne demanded. "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." "And where is the mother?" "I haven t the least idea. They are very dreadful people." Winterbourne meditated a moment. "They are very ignorant--very innocent only. Depend upon it they are not bad." "They are | PART II 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." 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. "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!"<|quote|>"Pray what is it that happens--here, for instance?"</|quote|>Winterbourne demanded. "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." "And where is the mother?" "I haven t the least idea. They are very dreadful people." Winterbourne meditated a moment. "They are very ignorant--very innocent only. Depend upon it they are not bad." "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." 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 | 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. "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." "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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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." 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. "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!"<|quote|>"Pray what is it that happens--here, for instance?"</|quote|>Winterbourne demanded. "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." "And where is the mother?" "I haven t the least idea. They are very dreadful people." Winterbourne meditated a moment. "They are very ignorant--very innocent only. Depend upon it they are not bad." "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." 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. "I know you!" said Randolph. "I m sure you know a great many things," exclaimed Winterbourne, taking him by the hand. "How is your education | 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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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. "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." "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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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." 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. "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!"<|quote|>"Pray what is it that happens--here, for instance?"</|quote|>Winterbourne demanded. "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." "And where is the mother?" "I haven t the least idea. They are very dreadful people." Winterbourne meditated a moment. "They are very ignorant--very innocent only. Depend upon it they are not bad." "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." 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. "I know you!" said Randolph. "I m sure you know a great many things," exclaimed Winterbourne, taking him by the hand. "How is your education coming on?" 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. "I told you I should come, you know," Winterbourne rejoined, smiling. "Well, I didn t believe it," said Miss Daisy. "I am much obliged to you," laughed the young man. "You might have come to see me!" said Daisy. "I arrived only yesterday." "I don t believe that!" the young girl declared. 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." Mrs. Miller turned uneasily in her chair. "I told you if I were to bring you, you would say something!" she murmured. "I told YOU!" Randolph exclaimed. "I tell YOU, sir!" he added jocosely, giving Winterbourne a thump on the knee. "It IS bigger, too!" 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. Mrs. Miller now certainly looked at him--at his chin. "Not very well, sir," she answered. "She s got the dyspepsia," said Randolph. "I ve got it too. Father s got it. I ve got it most!" 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. | carriage, and they drove back to Vevey in the dusk; the young girl was very quiet. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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." 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. "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!"<|quote|>"Pray what is it that happens--here, for instance?"</|quote|>Winterbourne demanded. "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." "And where is the mother?" "I haven t the least idea. They are very dreadful people." Winterbourne meditated a moment. "They are very ignorant--very innocent only. Depend upon it they are not bad." "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." 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 | Daisy Miller |
Winterbourne demanded. | No speaker | it that happens--here, for instance?"<|quote|>Winterbourne demanded.</|quote|>"The girl goes about alone | the privilege!" "Pray what is it that happens--here, for instance?"<|quote|>Winterbourne demanded.</|quote|>"The girl goes about alone with her foreigners. As to | think I may certainly call upon them," he said to Mrs. Costello. "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!" "Pray what is it that happens--here, for instance?"<|quote|>Winterbourne demanded.</|quote|>"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 | Cherbuliez s--Paule Mere--and don t come later than the 23rd." 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. "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!" "Pray what is it that happens--here, for instance?"<|quote|>Winterbourne demanded.</|quote|>"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." "And where is the mother?" "I haven t the least idea. They are very dreadful people." Winterbourne meditated a moment. "They are very ignorant--very innocent only. Depend upon it they are not bad." "They are hopelessly vulgar," | 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." 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. "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!" "Pray what is it that happens--here, for instance?"<|quote|>Winterbourne demanded.</|quote|>"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." "And where is the mother?" "I haven t the least idea. They are very dreadful people." Winterbourne meditated a moment. "They are very ignorant--very innocent only. Depend upon it they are not bad." "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." 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 | telling him she would stop "teasing" him if he would promise her solemnly to come down to Rome in the winter. "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." "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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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." 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. "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!" "Pray what is it that happens--here, for instance?"<|quote|>Winterbourne demanded.</|quote|>"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." "And where is the mother?" "I haven t the least idea. They are very dreadful people." Winterbourne meditated a moment. "They are very ignorant--very innocent only. Depend upon it they are not bad." "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." 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. "I know you!" said Randolph. "I m sure you know a great many things," exclaimed Winterbourne, taking him by the hand. "How is your education coming on?" | 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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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. "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." "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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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." 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. "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!" "Pray what is it that happens--here, for instance?"<|quote|>Winterbourne demanded.</|quote|>"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." "And where is the mother?" "I haven t the least idea. They are very dreadful people." Winterbourne meditated a moment. "They are very ignorant--very innocent only. Depend upon it they are not bad." "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." 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. "I know you!" said Randolph. "I m sure you know a great many things," exclaimed Winterbourne, taking him by the hand. "How is your education coming on?" 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. "I told you I should come, you know," Winterbourne rejoined, smiling. "Well, I didn t believe it," said Miss Daisy. "I am much obliged to you," laughed the young man. "You might have come to see me!" said Daisy. "I arrived only yesterday." "I don t believe that!" the young girl declared. 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." Mrs. Miller turned uneasily in her chair. "I told you if I were to bring you, you would say something!" she murmured. "I told YOU!" Randolph exclaimed. "I tell YOU, sir!" he added jocosely, giving Winterbourne a thump on the knee. "It IS bigger, too!" 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. Mrs. Miller now certainly looked at him--at his chin. "Not very well, sir," she answered. "She s got the dyspepsia," said Randolph. "I ve got it too. Father s got it. I ve got it most!" 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 | would promise her solemnly to come down to Rome in the winter. "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." "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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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." 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. "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!" "Pray what is it that happens--here, for instance?"<|quote|>Winterbourne demanded.</|quote|>"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." "And where is the mother?" "I haven t the least idea. They are very dreadful people." Winterbourne meditated a moment. "They are very ignorant--very innocent only. Depend upon it they are not bad." "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." 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. "I know you!" said Randolph. "I m sure you know a great many things," exclaimed Winterbourne, taking him by the hand. "How | Daisy Miller |
"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." | Mrs. Costello | happens--here, for instance?" Winterbourne demanded.<|quote|>"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."</|quote|>"And where is the mother?" | "Pray what is it that happens--here, for instance?" Winterbourne demanded.<|quote|>"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."</|quote|>"And where is the mother?" "I haven t the least | may certainly call upon them," he said to Mrs. Costello. "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!" "Pray what is it that happens--here, for instance?" Winterbourne demanded.<|quote|>"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."</|quote|>"And where is the mother?" "I haven t the least idea. They are very dreadful people." Winterbourne meditated a moment. "They are very ignorant--very innocent only. Depend upon it they are not bad." "They are hopelessly vulgar," said Mrs. Costello. "Whether or no being hopelessly vulgar is being bad is | Mere--and don t come later than the 23rd." 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. "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!" "Pray what is it that happens--here, for instance?" Winterbourne demanded.<|quote|>"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."</|quote|>"And where is the mother?" "I haven t the least idea. They are very dreadful people." Winterbourne meditated a moment. "They are very ignorant--very innocent only. Depend upon it they are not bad." "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." 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 | 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." 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. "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!" "Pray what is it that happens--here, for instance?" Winterbourne demanded.<|quote|>"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."</|quote|>"And where is the mother?" "I haven t the least idea. They are very dreadful people." Winterbourne meditated a moment. "They are very ignorant--very innocent only. Depend upon it they are not bad." "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." 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 | she would stop "teasing" him if he would promise her solemnly to come down to Rome in the winter. "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." "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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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." 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. "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!" "Pray what is it that happens--here, for instance?" Winterbourne demanded.<|quote|>"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."</|quote|>"And where is the mother?" "I haven t the least idea. They are very dreadful people." Winterbourne meditated a moment. "They are very ignorant--very innocent only. Depend upon it they are not bad." "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." 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. "I know you!" said Randolph. "I m sure you know a great many things," exclaimed Winterbourne, taking him by the hand. "How is your education coming on?" 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. "I told you I should come, you know," Winterbourne rejoined, smiling. "Well, I didn t believe it," said Miss Daisy. "I am much obliged to you," laughed the young man. "You might have come to see me!" | 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?" "It is a melancholy fact that I shall have to return to Geneva tomorrow." "Well, Mr. Winterbourne," said Daisy, "I think you re horrid!" "Oh, don t say such dreadful things!" said Winterbourne--" "just at the last!" "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. "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." "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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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." 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. "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!" "Pray what is it that happens--here, for instance?" Winterbourne demanded.<|quote|>"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."</|quote|>"And where is the mother?" "I haven t the least idea. They are very dreadful people." Winterbourne meditated a moment. "They are very ignorant--very innocent only. Depend upon it they are not bad." "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." 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. "I know you!" said Randolph. "I m sure you know a great many things," exclaimed Winterbourne, taking him by the hand. "How is your education coming on?" 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. "I told you I should come, you know," Winterbourne rejoined, smiling. "Well, I didn t believe it," said Miss Daisy. "I am much obliged to you," laughed the young man. "You might have come to see me!" said Daisy. "I arrived only yesterday." "I don t believe that!" the young girl declared. 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." Mrs. Miller turned uneasily in her chair. "I told you if I were to bring you, you would say something!" she murmured. "I told YOU!" Randolph exclaimed. "I tell YOU, sir!" he added jocosely, giving Winterbourne a thump on the knee. "It IS bigger, too!" 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. Mrs. Miller now certainly looked at him--at his chin. "Not very well, sir," she answered. "She s got the dyspepsia," said Randolph. "I ve got it too. Father s got it. I ve got it most!" 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." 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. | 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. "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." "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. In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller. "The Americans--of the courier?" asked this lady. "Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the courier stayed at home." "She went with you all alone?" "All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle. "And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted me to know!" PART II 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." 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. "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!" "Pray what is it that happens--here, for instance?" Winterbourne demanded.<|quote|>"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."</|quote|>"And where is the mother?" "I haven t the least idea. They are very dreadful people." Winterbourne meditated a moment. "They are very ignorant--very innocent only. Depend upon it they are not bad." "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." 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. "I know you!" said Randolph. "I m sure you know a great many things," exclaimed Winterbourne, taking him by the hand. "How is your education coming on?" 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. "I told you I should come, you know," Winterbourne rejoined, smiling. "Well, I didn t believe it," said Miss Daisy. "I am much obliged to you," laughed the young man. "You might have come to see me!" said Daisy. "I arrived only yesterday." "I don t believe that!" the young girl declared. 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." Mrs. Miller turned uneasily in her chair. "I told you if I were to bring you, you would say something!" she murmured. "I told YOU!" Randolph exclaimed. "I tell YOU, sir!" he added jocosely, giving Winterbourne a thump on the knee. "It IS bigger, too!" Daisy had entered upon a lively conversation with her hostess; Winterbourne judged it becoming to address | Daisy Miller |
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