3 11S3 o□^^b8s^ h
BY HENRY JAMES, JR., ILLUS-
TRATED FROM DRAWINGS
BY HARRY W. McVICKAR
HARPER & BROTHERS
NEW YORK AND LONDON
Copyright, 1878, by Harper & Brothers.
Copyright, 1892, by Harper & Brothers.
All rights reserved.
Heading. Part 1 3
Little Polish Boy 5
French Waiter 12
"If you eat three lumps" 16
Randolph and his Alpenstock . . .... 21
On the Lake = . 25
Randolph alone 28
Alpenstock = . 31
Papa Miller! 36
Hotels Daisy stopped at . 41
Old Castles 51, 53. 54
At the Boat-landing 57
Crest of Switzerland 59
Finis. Part 1 61
Heading. Part II. Rome 63
One of Mrs. Walker's Guests 66
Winterbourne's Idea of Daisy Miller . . . . 71
"The best place we saw is the City of Richmond " . . 74
Mr. Giovanelli 79
The Pope's Arms 81
A Corner in Rome 84
A Quill-driver's Tools ........ 87
Mrs. Walker ... 93
Rood-screen in Old Church 97
The Flag of Italy . . 100
An Incense-burner 103
Decoration (Cardinal's Hat) 106
Mrs. Costello 109
A Bit of a Roman Garden Ill
Arch of Constautine 115
Colosseum (the DeadljMMiasma!) 122
Daisy's Grave ... ..... 131
T the little town of Yevay, in
Switzerland, there is a particular-
ly comfortable hotel. There
are, indeed, many hotels ; for
the entertainment of tourists
is the business of the place,
which, as many travellers will
remember, is seated upon the edge of
a remarkably blue lake — a lake that it
behooves every tourist to visit. The
shore of the lake presents an unbroken
array of establishments of this order,
of every category, from the "grand ho-
tel" of the newest fashion, with a chalk-
white front, a hundred balconies, and a
dozen flags flying from its roof, to the
little Swiss 2:)e?isio7i of an elder day, with
its name inscribed in German -looking
lettering upon a pink or yellow wall, and
an awkward summer-house in the angle
of the garden. One of the hotels at Ye-
vay, however, is famous, even classical,
being distinguished from many of its up-
start neighbors by an air both of luxury
and of maturity. In this i-egion, in the
month of June, American travellers are
extremely numerous ; it may be said, in-
deed, that Ye vay assumes at this period
some of the characteristics of an Ameri-
can watering-place. There are sights and
sounds which evoke a vision, an echo, of
I^ewport and Saratoga. There is a flit-
ting hither and thither of " stylish" young
girls, a rustling of muslin flounces, a rat-
tle of dance-music in the morning hours,
a sound of high-pitched voices at all times.
You receive an impression of these things
at the excellent inn of the Trois Cou-
ronnes, and are transported in fancy to
the Ocean House or to Congress Hall.
But at the Trois Couronnes, it must be
added, there are other features that are
much at variance with these suggestions :
neat German waiters, who look like sec-
retaries of legation \ ^ R ii s s i a n
princesses sitting in the garden ; little
Polish boys walking about, held by the
hand, with their governors ; a view of
the sunny crest of the Dent da Midi
and the picturesque tow-
ers of the Castle of Cliil-
I hardly know whether
it was the analogies or the ''
differences that were uppermost in the
mind of a young American, who, two or
three years ago, sat in the garden of the
Trois Gouronnes, looking about him, rath-
er idly, at some of the graceful objects I
have mentioned. It was a beautiful sum-
mer morning, and in whatever fashion
the young American looked at things
they must have seemed to him charming.
He had come from Geneva the day be-
fore by the little steamer to see his aunt,
who was staying at the hotel — Geneva
having been for a long time his place of
residence. But his aunt had a headache
— his aunt
and now she
was shut up in her room, smelling cam-
phor, so that he was at liberty to wander
about. He was some seven-and-twentj
years of age. When his friends spoke of
him, they usually said that he was at
Geneva "studying;" when his enemies
spoke of him, they said — but, after all, he
had no enemies ; he w^as an extremely
amiable fellow, and universally liked.
What I should say is, simply, that when
certain persons spoke of him they affirm-
ed that the reason of his spending so
much time at Geneva was that he was
extremely devoted to a lady who lived
there — a foreign lady — a person older
than himself. Yery few Americans — in-
deed, I think none — had ever seen this
lady, about w4iom there were some sin-
gular stories. But Winterbourne had an
old attachment for the little metropolis
of Calvinism ; he had been put to school
there as a boy, and he had afterwards
gone to college there — circumstances
which had led to his forming a great many
youthful friendships. Many of these he
had kept, and they were a source of great
satisfaction to him.
After knocking at his aunt's door, and
learning that she was indisposed, he had
taken a walk about the town, and then
lie had come in to his breakfast. He had
now finished his breakfast ; but he was
drinking a small cup of coffee, which had
been served to him on a little table in
the garden by one of the waiters who
looked like an attache. At last he fin-
ished his coffee and lit a cigarette. Pres-
ently a small boy came walking along
the path — an urchin of nine or ten. The
child, who was diminutive for his years,
had an aged expression of countenance:
a pale complexion, and sharp little feat-
ures. He was dressed in knickerbockers,
with red stockings, which displayed his
poor little spindle-shanks ; he also wore a
brilliant red cravat. He carried in his
hand a long alpenstock, the sharp point
of w^hicli he thrust into everything that
he approached — the fiower-beds, the gar-
den-benches, the trains of the ladies'
dresses. In front of Winterbourne he
paused, looking at him with a pair of
bright, penetrating little eyes.
^' Will you give me a lump of sugar ?"
he asked, in a sharp, hard little voice — a
voice immature, and yet, somehow, not
Winterbourne glanced at the small ta-
ble near him, on which his coffee-service
rested, and saw that several morsels of
sugar remained. " Yes, yon may take
one," he answered ; " but I don't think
sugar is good for little boys."
This little boy stepped forward and
carefully selected three of the coveted
fragments, two of which he buried in
the pocket of his knickerbockers, depos-
iting the other as promptly in another
place. He poked his alpenstock, lance-
fashion, into Winterbourne's bench, and
tried to crack the lump of sugar with his
" Oh, blazes ; it's har-r-d !" he exclaim-
ed, pronouncing the adjective in a pecul-
Winterbourne had immediately per-
ceived that he might have the honor of
claiming him as a fellow-countryman.
'' Take care you don't hurt your teeth,"
he said, paternally.
" I haven't got any teeth to hurt.
They have all come out. I have only
got seven teeth. My mother counted
tliem last night, and one came out right
afterwards. She said she'd slap me if
any more came out. I can't help it. It's
this old Europe. It's the climate that
come out. In
out. It's these
Winterbourne was much amused. " If
you eat three himps of sugar, your moth-
er will certainly slap you," he said.
" She's got to give me some candy.
then," rejoined his young interlocutor.
" I can't get any candy here — any Amer-
ican candy. American candy 's the best
" And are American little boys the
best little boys?" asked Winterbourne.
" I don't know. I'm an American
boy," said the child.
" I see you are one of the best !"
" Are you an American man ?" pur-
sued this vivacious infant. And then,
on Winterbourne's affirmative reply —
"American men are the best!" lie de-
His companion thanked him for the
compliment ; and the child, who had
now got astride of his alpenstock, stood
looking about him, while he attacked a
second lump of sugar. Winterbourne
wondered if he himself had been like
this in his infancy, for he had been
brought to Europe at about this age.
" Here comes my sister !" cried the
child, in a moment. "She's an Ameri-
Winterbourne looked along the path
and saw a beautiful young lady advanc-
ing. " American girls are the best girls !"
he said, cheerfully, to his young com-
" My sister ain't the best !" tlie child
declared. " She's always blowing at me."
" I imagine that is your fault, not
hers," said Winterbourne. The young
lady meanwhile had drawn near. She
was dressed in white muslin, with a hun-
dred frills and flounces, and knots of
pale-colored ribbon. She was barehead-
ed ; but she balanced in her hand a large
parasol, with a deep border of embroid-
ery ; and she was strikingly, admirably
pretty. " How pretty they are !" thought
Winterbourne, straightening himself in
his seat, as if he were prepared to rise.
Tlie young lady paused in front of his
bench, near the parapet of the garden,
w-hicli overlooked the lake. The little
boy had now converted his alpenstock
into a vaulting-pole, by the aid of w^hich
lie was springing about in the gravel, and
kicking it up a little.
"Randolph," said the young lady,
" what are you doing ?"
" I'm going up the Alps," replied Ran-
dolph. " This is the way !" And he
gave another little jump, scattering the
pebbles about Winterbourne's ears.
" That's the way they come down,"
" He's an American man !" cried Ran-
dolph, in his little hard voice.
The young lady gave no heed
to this announcement, but looked
straight at her brother. " Well, I
guess you had better be quiet," she
It seemed to Winterbourne
that he had been in a manner
presented. He got up and
stepped slowly towards the
young girl, throwing away his
cigarette. " This little boy and
I have made acquaintance," he said,
with great civility. In Geneva, as
he had been perfectly aware, a young
* man was not at liberty to speak to a
young unmarried lady except under cer-
tain rarely occurring conditions ; but here
at Yevay, what conditions could be bet-
ter than these? — a pretty American girl
coming and standing in front of you in
a garden. This pretty American girl,
however, on hearing Winterbourne's ob-
servation, simply glanc-
ed at him ; she then
turned her head and
looked over the parapet, at the lake and
the opposite mountains, lie wondered
whether he had gone too far ; but he de-
cided that he must advance farther, rath-
er than retreat. While he was thinking
of something else to say, the young lady
turned to the little boy again.
" I should like to know where you got
that pole ?" she said.
" I bought it," responded Randolph.
"You don't mean to say you're going
to take it to Italy ?"
" Yes, I am going to take it to Italy,"
the child declared.
The young girl glanced over the front
of her dress, and smoothed out a knot or
two of ribbon. Then she rested her eyes
upon the prospect again. " Well, I guess
you had better leave it somewhere," she
said, after a moment.
" Are you going to Italy ?" Winter-
bourne inquired, in a tone of great re-
The young lady glanced at him again.
" Yes, sir," she replied. And she said
*' Are you — a — going over the Sim-
plon ?" Winterbourne pursued, a little
" 1 don^t know,'* she said. " I suppose
it's some mountain. Randolph, what
mountain are we going over ?"
" Going where ?" the child demanded.
" To Italy," Winterbourne explained.
^'I don't know," said Randolph. "I
don't want to go to Italy. I want to go
'' Oh, Italy is a beautiful place !" re-
joined the young man.
" Can you get candy there ?" Randolph
" I hope not," said his sister. " I guess
you have haci enough candy, and mother
thinks so, too."
*' I haven't had any for ever so long —
for a hundred weeks !" cried the boy,
still jumping about.
The young lady inspected her flounces
and smoothed her ribbons again, and
Winterbourne presently risked an obser-
vation upon the beauty of the view. He
was ceasing to be embarrassed, for he had
begun -to perceive that she was not in
the least embarrassed herself. There had
not been the slightest alteration in her
charming complexion ; she was evidently
neither offended nor fluttered. If she
looked another way when he spoke to
her, and seemed not particularly to hear
him, this was simply her habit, her man-
ner. Yet, as he talked a little more, and
pointed out some of the objects of in-
terest in the view, with which she appear-
ed quite unacquainted, she gradually gave
liim more of the benefit of her glance;
and then he saw that this glance was
perfectly direct and unshrinking. It
was not, however, wdiat would have been
called an immodest glance, for the young
girl's eyes w^ere singularly honest and
fresh. They were wonderfully pretty
eyes ; and, indeed, Winterbourne had not
seen for a long time anything prettier
than his fair countrywonian's various
features — her complexion, her nose, her
ears, her teeth. He had a great relish for
feminine beauty ; he was addicted to ob-
serving and analyzing it ; and as regards
this young lady's face he made several ob-
servations. It was not at all insipid, but it
was not exactly expressive; and though
it was eminently delicate, Winterbourne
mentally accused it — very forgivingly —
of a want of finish. He thought it very
possible that Master Randolph's sister was
a coquette ; he was sure she had a spirit
of her own ; but in her bright, sweet.
superficial little visage tliere was no mock-
ery, no irony. Before long it became ob-
vious that she was much disposed towards
conversation. She told him that they
were going to Rome for the winter —
she and her mother and Ran-
dolph. She asked him if he was
a " real American ;" she shouldn't
have taken him for one ; he seem-
ed more like a German — this was
said after a little hesitation
— especially when
he spoke. Winter-
answered that he
had met Ger-
m a n s w^ h o
spoke like Americans ; but that he had
not, so far as he ^-a. remember-
ed, met an Amer-
ican who spoke
like a German.
Then he asked her if she
should not be more comfort-
able in sitting upon the bench which
he had just quitted. She answered
that she liked standing up and walk-
ing about ; but she presently sat down.
She told him she was from New York
State — "if yon know where tliat is."
Winterboiirne learned more about lier
by catcliing hold of her small, slippery
brother, and making him stand a few
minutes by his side.
"Tell me your name, my boy," he said.
" Randolph C. Miller," said the boy,
sharply. " And I'll tell you her name ;"
and he levelled his alpenstock at his sister.
" You had better wait till you are ask-
ed !" said this young lady, calmly.
" I should like very much to know
your name," said Winterbourne.
" Her name is Daisy Miller !" cried the
child, "But that isn't her real name;
that isn't her name on her cards."
"It's a pity you haven't got one of my
cards !" said Miss Miller.
" Her real name is Annie P. Miller,"
the boy went on.
"Ask him his name," said his sister,
But on this point Randolph seemed
perfectly indifferent ; he continued to sup-
ply information in regard to his own fam-
ily. " My father's name is Ezra B. Mil-
ler," he announced. " My father ain't in
Europe ; my father's in a better place
Winterbourne imagined for a moment
that this was the manner in whicli the
child had been taught to intimate that
Mr. Miller had been removed to the sphere
of celestial rewards. But Randolph im-
mediately added, " My father's in Sche-
nectady. He's got a big business. My
father's rich, you bet !"
" Well !" ejaculated Miss Miller, low-
ering her parasol and looking at the em-
broidered border. Winterbourne presently
released the child, who departed, dragging
his alpenstock along the path. " He
doesn't like Europe," said the young girl.
" He wants to go back."
" To Schenectady, you mean ?"
" Yes ; he w^ants to go right home.
He hasn't got any boys here. There is
one boy here, but he always goes round
with a teacher; they won't let him play."
"And your brother hasn't any teacher?"
" Mother thought of getting him one
to travel round with us. There was a
lady told her of a very good teacher ; an
American lady — perhaps you know her —
Mrs. Sanders. I think she came from
Boston. She told her of this teacher,
and we thought of getting him to travel
round with us. But Randolph said he
didn't want a teacher travelling round
with us. He said he wouldn't have lessons
wdien he was in the cars. And we are in
the cars about half the time. There was
an English lady we met in the cars — I
think her name w^as Miss Featherstone ;
perhaps you know her. She wanted to
know why I didn't give Randolph lessons
— give him 'instructions,' she called it. I
guess he could give me more instruction
than I could give him. He's very smart."
" Yes," said Winterbourne ; " he seems
" Mother's going to get a teacher for
him as soon as we get to Italy. Can you
get good teachers in Italy ?"
" Very good, I should think," said
" Or else she's going to find some school.
He ought to learn some more. He's only
nine. He's going to college." And in
this way Miss Miller continued to con-
verse upon the affairs of her family, and
upon other topics. She sat there with
her extremely pretty hands, ornamented
with very brilliant rings, folded in her
lap, and w^ith her pretty eyes now resting
upon those of Winterbourne, now wan-
dering over the garden, the people who
passed by, and the beautiful view. She
talked to Winterbourne as if she had
known him a long time. He found it
very pleasant. It was many years since
he had heard a young girl talk so much.
It might have been said of this unknown
young lady, who had come and sat down
beside him upon a bench, that she chat-
tered. She Avas very quiet ; she sat in a
charming, tranquil attitude, but her lips
and her eyes were constantly moving.
She had a soft, slender, agreeable voice,
and her tone was decidedl}^ sociable. She
gave Winterbourne a history of her move-
ments and intentions, and those of her
mother and brother, in Europe, and enu-
merated, in particular, the various hotels
at which they had stopped. " That Eng-
lish lady in the cars," she said — " Miss
Featherstone — asked me if we didn't all
live in hotels in America. I told her I
had never been in so many hotels in my
life as since I came to Europe. I have
never seen so many — it's nothing but
hotels." But Miss Miller did not make
this remark with a querulous accent ; she
appeared to be in the best humor with
everything. She declared that the hotels
were very good, wlien once you got
used to their ways, and that Europe
was perfectly sweet. She was not dis-
appointed — not a bit. Perhaps it was
because she had lieard so much about
it before. She liad ever so many in-
timate friends that had been there ^
ever so many times. And then she had
had ever so many dresses and tilings from
Paris. Whenever she put on a Paris dress
she felt as if she were in Europe.
" It was a kind of a wishing-cap," said
" Yes," said Miss Miller, without ex-
amining this analogy; "it always
made me wish I was here. But I
needn't have done that for dresses.
I am sure they send all the pretty
ones to America ; you see the most
frightful things here. The only
thing I don't like," she proceed-
ed, " is the society. There isn't
any society ; or, if there is, I don't
know where it
keeps itself. Do
you? I suppose
there is some
but I haven't seen anything of it. I'm
very fond of society, and I have always
had a great deal of it. I don't mean only
in Schenectady, but in Kew York. I used
to go to New York every winter. In
New York I had lots of society. Last
winter I had seventeen dinners given
me; and three of them w^ere by gentle-
men," added Daisy Miller. " I have more
friends in New York than in Schenecta-
dy — more gentleman friends; and more
young lady friends, too," she I'esumed in
a moment. She paused jigain for an in-
stant; she was looking at Winterbourne
with all her prettiness in her lively eyes,
and in her light, slightly monotonous
smile. " I have always had," she said,
*' a great deal of gentlemen's society."
Poor Winterbourne was amused, per-
plexed, and decidedly charmed. He had
never yet heard a young girl express her-
self in just this fashion — never, at least,
save in cases where to say such things
seemed a kind of demonstrative evidence
of a certain laxity of deportment. And
yet was he to accuse Miss Daisy Miller
of actual or potential incondioite, as they
said at Geneva ? He felt that he had
lived at Geneva so long that he had lost
a good deal; he had become dishabituated
to the American tone. Never, indeed,
since he had grown okl enough to appre-
ciate things had he encountered a young
American girl of so pronounced a type
as this. Certainly she was very charming,
but how deucedly sociable ! Was she
simply a pretty girl from New York
State ? were they all like that, the pretty
girls wdio had a good deal of gentlemen's
society ? Or was she also a designing, an
audacious, an unscrupulous young person ?
Winterbourne had lost his instinct in tliis
matter, and his reason could not help him.
Miss Daisy Miller looked extremely inno-
cent. Some people had told him that, after
all, American girls were exceedingly inno-
cent ; and others had told him that, after
all, they were not. He was inclined to
think Miss Daisy Miller was a flirt — a
pretty American flirt. He had never, as
yet, had any relations with young ladies
of this category. He had known, here in
Europe, two or three women — persons
older than Miss Daisy Miller, and pro-
vided, for respectability's sake, with hus-
bands — who were great coquettes — dan-
gerous, terrible women, with whom one's
relations were liable to take a serious turn.
But this young girl was not a coquette in
that sense ; she was very unsophisticated ;
she was only a pretty American flirt.
Winterbourne was almost grateful for hav-
ing found the formula that applied to Miss
Daisy Miller. He leaned back in his seat ;
he remarked to himself that she had the
most charming nose he had ever seen ; he
wondered what were the regular con-
ditions and limitations of one's intercourse
with a pretty American flirt. It presently
became apparent that he was on the way
" Have you been to that old castle ?"
asked the young girl, pointing with her
parasol to the far-gleaming walls of the
Chateau de Chillon.
" Yes, formerly, more than once," said
Winterbourne. " You too, I suppose, have
seen it f
'' ]^o ; w^e haven't been there. I want
to go there dreadfully. Of course I mean
to go there. I wouldn't go away from
here without having seen that old castle."
" It's a very pretty excursion," said
Winterbourne, "and very easy to make.
You can drive or go by the little steamer."
" You can go in the cars," said Miss
"Yes; you can go in the cars," Winter-
" Our courier saj^s tliey take you right
up to the castle," the young girl contin-
ued. " We were going last week ; but my
mother gave out. She suffers dreadfully
from dyspepsia. She said she couldn't
go. Randolph wouldn't go, either ; he
says he doesn't think much of old castles.
But I guess we'll go this week, if we can
" Your brother is
"'^^ not interested in an-
„,,^ AVinterbourne inquired, smil-
"He says he don't care
much about old castles. He's only nine.
He wants to stay at the hotel. Mother's
afraid to leave him alone, and
^^"•^^ the courier won't stay with
him ; so we haven't been to
many places. But it will
be too bad if we don't go
up there." And Miss Mil-
ler pointed again at the Cha-
teau de Chillon.
"I should think it might
be arranged," said Winter-
bourne. " Couldn't you get some one to
stay for the afternoon with Kandolph f
Miss Miller looked at him a moment,
and then very placidly, "I wish you would
stay with him !" she said.
Winterbourne hesitated a moment. "I
should much rather go to Chillon with
" With me?" asked the young girl, with
the same placidity.
She didn't rise, blushing, as a young
girl at Geneva would have done ; and yet
Winterbourne, conscious that he had been
very bold, thought it possible that she was
offended. " With your mother," he an-
swered, very respectfully.
But it seemed that both his audacity
and his respect were lost upon Miss Daisy
Miller. " I guess my mother won't go,
after all," she said. " She don't like to
ride round in the afternoon. But did you
really mean w^hat you said just now, that
you would like to go up there ?"
" Most earnestly," Winterbourne de-
" Then we may arrange it. If mother
will stay with Kandolph, I guess Eugenio
" Eugenio ?" the young man inquired.
"Eugenio's our courier. He doesn't
like to stay with llandolpli; lie's the most
fastidious man I ever saw. But he's a
splendid courier. I guess he'll stay at
home with Randolph if mother does, and
then we can go to the castle."
Winterbourne reflected for an instant
as lucidly as possible — " we " could only
mean Miss Daisy Miller and himself. This
programme seemed almost too agreeable
for credence ; he felt as if he ought to
kiss the young lady's hand. Possibly he
would have done so, and quite spoiled the
project ; but at this moment another per-
son, presumably Eugenio, appeared. A
tall, handsome man, with superb whiskers,
wearing a velvet morning-coat and a brill-
iant watch-chain, approached Miss Miller,
looking sharply at her companion. " Oh,
Eugenio !" said Miss Miller, with the
Eugenio had looked at Winterbourne
irom head to foot ; he now bowed gravely
to the young lady. " I have the honor to
inform mademoiselle that luncheon is
upon the table."
Miss Miller slowly rose. " See here,
Eugenio !" she said ; " I'm going to that
old castle, anyway."
" To the Chateau de Chillon, madem-
oiselle?" the courier inquired. "Madem-
oiselle lias made arrangements?" he add-
ed, in a tone which struck Winterboiirne
as very impertinent.
Eugenio's tone apparently threw, even
to Miss Miller's own apprehension, a
slightly ironical light upon the young
girl's situation. She turned to Winter-
bourne, blushing a little — a very little.
" You won't back out ?" she said.
" I shall not be happy till we go !" he
"And you are staying in this hotel ?"
she went on. "And you are really an
The courier stood looking at Winter-
bourne offensively. The young man,
at least, thought his manner of look-
ing an offence to Miss Miller ; it
conveyed an imputation
that she "picked
quaintances. " I shall
liave the honor of presenting to you
a person who will tell you all about
me," he said, smiling, and
referring to his aunt.
" oil, well, we'll go some day,'^ said
Miss Miller. And she gave him a smile
and turned away. She put up her parasol
and walked back to the inn beside Euge-
nio. Winterbourne stood looking after
her; and as she moved away, drawing
her muslin furbelows over the gravel,
said to himself that she had the toiornwre
of a princess.
He had, however, engaged to do more
than proved feasible, in promising to pre-
sent his aunt, Mrs. Costello, to Miss Daisy
Miller. As soon as the former lady had got
better of her headache he w^aited upon
her in her apartment; and, after the prop-
er inquiries in regard to her health, he
asked her if she had observed in the hotel
an American family — a mamma, a daugh-
ter, and a little boy.
" And a courier ?" said Mrs. Costello.
" Oh yes, I have observed them. Seen
them — heard them — and kept out of their
w^ay." Mrs. Costello was a w^idow with
a fortune ; a person of much distinction,
w^ho frequently intimated that, if she were
not so dreadfully liable to sick-headaches,
she would probably have left a deeper
impress upon her time. She had a long,
pale face, a high nose, and a great deal of
very striking white hair, which she wore
in large puffs and rouleaux over the top
of her head. She had two sons married
in New York, and another who was now
in Europe. This young man was amusing
himself at Hombourg ; and, though he was
on his travels, was rarely perceived to visit
any particular city at the moment selected
by his mother for her own appearance
there. Her nephew, who had come up to
Yevay expressly to see her, was therefore
more attentive than those who, as she said,
were nearer to her. He had imbibed at
Geneva the idea that one must always be
attentive to one's annt. Mrs. Costello had
not seen him for many years, and she was
greatly pleased with him, manifesting her
approbation by initiating him into many
of the secrets of that social sway which, as
she gave him to understand, she exerted in
the American capital. She admitted that
she was very exclusive ; but, if he were
acquainted with IS^ew York, he would see
that one had to be. And her picture of
the minutely hierarchical constitution of
the society of that city, which she pre-
sented to him in many different lights,
was, to Winterbourne's imagination, al-
most oppressively striking.
He immediately perceived, from her
tone, that Miss Daisy Miller's place in
the social scale was low. " I am afraid
you don't approve of them," he said.
" They are very common," Mrs. Cos-
tello declared. " They are the sort of
Americans that one does one's duty by
not — not acceptiiii^."
"Ah, you don't accept them?" said
the young man.
" I can't, my dear Frederick. I would
if I could, but I can't."
" The young girl is very pretty," said
Winterbourne, in a moment.
" Of course she's pretty. But she
is very common."
" I see what you mean, of course,"
said Winterbourne, after another pause.
" She has that charming look that
they all have," his aunt resumed.
"I can't think where they pick
it up ; and she dresses in
perfection — no, you don't
know how w^ell she
dresses. I can't
they get their
dear aunt, she is not, after all, a Co-
^' She is a young lady," said Mrs. Cos-
tello, " who has an intimacy with her
"An intimacy with the courier?" the
young man demanded.
" Oh, the mother is just as bad ! They
treat the courier like a familiar friend
— like a gentleman. I shouldn't wonder
if he dines with them. Very likely they
have never seen a man with such good
manners, such fine clothes, so like a gen-
tleman. He probably corresponds to the
young lady's idea of a count. He sits
with them in the garden in the evening.
I think he smokes."
Winterbourne listened with interest to
these disclosures; they helped him to
make up his mind about Miss Daisy.
Evidently she was rather wild.
" AVell," he said, " I am not a cou-
rier, and yet she was very charming to
" You had better have said at first,"
said Mrs. Costello, with dignity, "that
you had made her acquaintance."
" We simply met in the garden, and we
talked a bit."
" Tout honnement ! And pray what
did you say ?"
" I said I should take the liberty of in-
troducing her to my admirable aunt."
"I am much obliged to you."
"It was to guarantee my respectabil-
ity," said Winterbourne.
" And pray who is to guarantee hers?"
" Ah, you are cruel," said the young
man. " She's a very nice young girl."
" You don't say that as if you believed
it," Mrs. Costello observed.
" She is completely uncultivated," Win-
terbourne went on. "But she is won-
derfully pretty, and, in short, she is very
nice. To prove that I believe it, I am
going to take her to the Chateau de Chil-
"You two are going off there togeth-
er ? I should say it proved just the con-
trary. How long had you known her,
may I ask, when this interesting project
was formed ? You haven't been twenty-
four hours in the house."
" I had known her half an hour !" said
"Dear me!" cried Mrs. Costello.
" What a dreadful girl !"
Her nephew was silent for some mo-
ments. " Yon really think, then," he be-
gan, earnestly, and with a desire for trust-
worthy information — " you really think
that — " But he paused again.
" Think what, sir f said his aunt.
" That she is the sort of young lady
who expects a man, sooner or later, to
carry her off ?"
"I haven't the least idea what such
young ladies expect a man to do. But I
really think that you had better not med-
dle with little American girls that are
uncultivated, as you call them. You
have lived too long out of the country.
You will be sure to make some great mis-
take. You are too innocent."
" My dear aunt, I am not so innocent,"
said Winterbourne, smiling and curling
" You are too guilty, then !"
Winterbourne continued to curl his
mustache, meditatively. " You won't let
the poor girl know you, then?" he asked
" Is it literally true that she is going to
the Chateau de Chillon with you ?"
" I think that she fully intends it."
" Then, my dear Frederick," said Mrs.
Costello, " I must decline the honor of
her acquaintance. I am an old woman,
but I am not too old, thank Heaven, to
be shocked !"
" But don't they all do these things —
the young girls in America?" Winter-
Mrs. Costello stared a moment. " I
should like to see my granddaughters do
them !" she declared, grimly.
This seemed to throw some light upon
the matter, for Winterbourne remember-
ed to have heard that his pretty cousins
in New York were " tremendous flirts."
If, therefore. Miss Daisy Miller exceeded
the liberal margin allowed to these young
ladies, it was probable that anything might
be expected of her. Winterbourne was
impatient to see her again, and he was
vexed with himself that, by instinct, he
should not appreciate her justly.
Though he was impatient to see her,
he hardly knew what he should say to
her about his aunt's refusal to become ac-
quainted with her ; but he discovered,
promptly enough, that with Miss Daisy
Miller there was no great need of walk-
ing on tiptoe. He found her that even-
ing in the garden, wandering about in the
warm starlight like an indolent sylph,
and swinging to and fro the largest fan
he had ever beheld. It was ten o'clock.
He had dined with his aunt, had been
sitting with her since dinner, and had
just taken leave of her till the morrow.
Miss Daisy Miller seemed very glad to
see him ; she declared it was the longest
evening she had ever passed.
" Have you been all alone ?" he asked.
"I have been walking round with
mother. But mother gets tired walking
round," she answered.
" Has she gone to bed ?"
" No ; she doesn't like to go to bed,"
said the young girl. " She doesn't sleep
— not three hours. She says she doesn't
know how she lives. She's dreadful-
ly nervous. I guess she sleeps more
than she thinks. She's gone some-
where after Randolph ; she wants to
try to get him to go to bed. He doesn't
like to go to bed."
" Let us hope she will persuade him,"
'' She will talk to him all she can ; but
he doesn't like her to talk to him," said
Miss Daisy, opening her fan. " She's
going to try to get Eugenio to talk to
him. Bat he isn't afraid of Eugenio.
Eugenio's a splendid courier, but he can't
make much impression on Randolph ! I
don't believe he'll go to bed before elev-
en." It appeared that Randolph's vigil
was in fact triumphantly prolonged, for
Winterbourne strolled about with the
young girl for some time without meet-
ing her mother. "I have been look-
ing round for that lady you w^ant to
introduce me to," his companion re-
sumed. " She's your aunt." Then, on
Winterbourne's admitting the fact, and
expressing some curiosity as to how^ she
had learned it, she said she had heard all
about Mrs. Costello from the chamber-
maid. She was very quiet, and very
commne il fwut / she wore white puffs ;
she spoke to no one, and she never dined
at the tahle cVhote. Every two days she
had a headache. " I think that's a lovely
description, headache and all !" said Miss
Daisy, cliattering along in her thin, gay
voice. " I want to know her ever so
much. I know just what yo^ir aunt
would be ; I know I should like her. She
would be very exclusive. I like a lady
to be exclusive ; I'm dying to be ex-
clusive myself. Well, we are exclusive,
mother and I. We don't speak to every
one — or tliey don't speak to us. I sup-
pose it's about the same thing. Anyway,
I shall be ever so glad to know your
Winterbourne was embarrassed. " Slie
would be most happy," he said ; " but I
am afraid those headaches will interfere."
The young girl looked at him through
the dusk. " But I suppose she doesn't
have a headache every day," she said,
Winterbourne was silent a moment.
" She tells me she does," he answered at
last, not knowing what to say.
Miss Daisy Miller stopped, and stood
looking at him. Her prettiness was still
visible in the darkness ; she was opening
and closing her enormous fan. " She
doesn't want to know me !" she said,
suddenly. " Why don't you say so ? You
needn't be afraid. I'm not afraid !" And
she gave a little laugh.
Winterbourne fancied there was a tre-
mor in her voice ; he was touched, shock-
ed, mortified by it. " My dear young
lady," lie protested, " she knows no one.
It's her wretched health."
The young girl walked on a few steps,
laughing still. " You needn't be afraid,"
she repeated. " Why should she want to
know me ?" Then she paused again ;
she was close to the parapet of the gar-
den, and in front of her was the starlit
lake. There was a vague sheen upon its
surface, and in the distance were dimly-
seen mountain forms. Daisy Miller look-
ed out upon the mysterious prospect, and
then she gave another little laugh. " Gra-
cious ! she is exclusive !" she said. Win-
terbourne wondered whether she was
seriously wounded, and for a moment al-
most wished that her sense of injury
might be such as to make it becoming in
him to attempt to reassure and comfort
her. He had a pleasant sense that she
would be very approachable for con-
solatory purposes. He felt then, for the
instant, quite ready to sacrifice his aunt,
conversationally ; to admit that she was a
proud, rude woman, and to declare that
they needn't mind her. But before he
had time to commit himself to this peril-
ous mixture of gallantry and impiety, the
young lady, resuming her walk, gave
an exclamation in quite another tone.
" Well, here's mother ! I guess she hasn't
got Randolph to go to bed." The figure
of a lady appeared, at a distance, very in-
distinct in the darkness, and advancing
with a slow and wavering movement.
Suddenly it seemed to pause.
"Are you sure it is your mother? Can
you distinguish her in this thick dusk?"
" Well!" cried Miss Daisy Miller, wnth
a laugh ; " I guess I know my own
mother. And when she has got on my
shawl, too ! She is always wearing my
The lady in question, ceasing to ad-
vance, hovered vaguely about the sj^ot at
which she had checked her steps.
" I am afraid your mother doesn't see
you," said Winterbourne. " Or perhaps,"
he added, thinking, with Miss Miller, the
joke permissible — " perhaps she feels
guilty about your shawl."
"Oh, it's a fearful old thing!" the
young girl replied, serenely. " I told her
she could wear it. She won't come here,
because she sees you."
" Ah, then," said Winterbourne, " I
had better leave you."
"Oil no; come on!" urged Miss
" I'm afraid your mother doesn't
approve of my walking with you.'
Miss Miller gave him a serious
glance. " It isn't for me ; it's
for you — that is, it's for her.
Well, I don't know who
for ! But mother doesn't
like any of my gentlemen
friends. She's right down
timid. She always makes
a fuss if I introduce a gen-
tleman. But I <;Zc> introduce
them — almost always. If %rr-
I didn't introduce my
gentlemen friends to mother," the
young girl added, in her little
soft, flat monotone, " I shouldn't
think it was natural."
"To introduce me," said Win-
terbourne, " you must know my
name." And he proceeded to pronounce
it to her.
" Oh dear, I can't say all that !" said
his companion, with a laugh. But by
this time they had come up to Mrs. Mil-
ler, who, as they drew near, walked to
the parapet of the garden and leaned
upon it, looking intently at the lake, and
turning her back to them. " Motlier !"
said the young girl, in a tone of decision.
Upon this the elder lady turned round.
" Mr. Winterbourne," said Miss Daisy
Miller, introducing the young man very
frankly and prettily. " Common," she
was, as Mrs. Costello had pronounced her ;
yet it was a wonder to Winterbourne
that, with her commonness, she had a sin-
gularly delicate grace.
Her mother was a small, spare, light
person, with a w\andering eye, a very
exiguous nose, and a large forehead, dec-
orated with a certain amount of thin,
much-frizzled hair. Like her daughter,
Mrs. Miller was dressed with extreme
elegance ; she had enormous diamonds in
her ears. So far as Winterbourne could
observe, she gave him no greeting — she
certainly was not looking at him. Daisy
was near her, pulling her shawl straight.
" What are you doing, poking round
here ?" this young L^dy inquired, but by
no means with tliat harshness of accent
which her clioice of words may imply.
" I don't know," said her mother, turn-
ing towards the Lake again.
" I sliouldn't think you'd want that
shawl !" Daisy exclaimed.
" Well, I do !" her mother answered,
with a little laugh.
" Did you get Eandolph to go to bed ?"
asked the young girl.
" 'No ; I couldn't induce him," said
Mrs. Miller, very gently. " He wants to
talk to the waiter. He likes to talk to
"I was telling Mr. Winterbourne," the
young girl went on ; and to the young
man's ear her tone might have indicated
that she had been uttering his name all
" Oh yes !" said Winterbourne ; ^' I
have the pleasure of knowing your son."
Randolph's mamma was silent ; she
turned her attention to the lake. But at
last she spoke. " Well, I don't see how
he lives !"
" Anyhow, it isn't so bad as it was at
Dover," said Daisy Miller.
"And what occurred at Dover?" Win-
" He wouldn't go to bed at all. I guess
he sat up all night in the public parlor.
He wasn't in bed at twelve o'clock ; I
" It was half-past twelve," declared
Mrs. Miller, with mild emphasis.
"Does he sleep much during the day?"
" I guess he doesn't sleep much," Daisy
" I wish he would !" said her mother.
" It seems as if he couldn't."
" I think he's real tiresome," Daisy
Then for some moments there w^as
silence. " Well, Daisy Miller," said the
elder lady, presently, "I shouldn't think
you'd want to talk against your own
" Well, he is tiresome, mother," said
Daisy, quite without the asperity of a
" He's only nine," urged Mrs. Miller.
" Well, he wouldn't go to that castle,"
said tlie young girl. " I'm going there
with Mr. Winterbourne."
To this announcement, very placidly
offered no response. Winter-
bourne took for granted that she
deeply disapproved of the pro-
jected excursion ; but lie said to
himself that she was a simple,
easily -managed person, and that a
few deferential protestations would
take the edge from her displeasure.
" Yes," he began ; " 3'our daughter
has kindly allowed me the honor of
being her guide."
A .. K
selves, with a sort of appealing air, to
Daisy, who, however, strolled a few steps
farther, gently humming to herself. " 1
presume you will go in the cars," said her
" Yes, or in the boat," said Winter-
" AVell, of course, I don't know," Mrs.
Miller rejoined. " I have never been to
" It is a pity you shouldn't go," said
Winterbourne, beginning to feel reassur-
ed as to her opposition. And yet he was
quite prepared to find that, as a matter
of course, she meant to accompany her
"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 in-
creasing confidence. " Of course we only
want to see the principal ones. We visited
several in England," she presently added.
" All, yes ! in England there are beau-
tiful castles," said Winterbourne. "But
Cliillon, here, is very well worth seeing."
" AVell, if Daisy feels up to it—" said
Mrs. Miller, in a tone impregnated with
a sense of the magnitude of the enter-
prise. " It seems as if there was nothing
she wouldn't undertake."
" Oh, I think she'll enjoy it !" Winter-
bourne 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, Avho was still stroll-
ing along in front of them, softly vocaliz-
ing. " You are not disposed, madam," he
incpiired, " to undertake it yourself ^"
Daisy's mother looked at him an instant
askance, and then walked forward in si-
lence. 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 them-
selves in the fore -front of social inter-
course in the dark old city at the otlrer
end of the lake. But his meditations
were interrupted by hearing his name
very distinctly pronounced by Mrs. Mil-
ler's unprotected daughter.
"Mn Winterbonrne!" murmured Daisy.
" Mademoiselle !" said the young man.
" Don't you want to take me out in a
" At present !" he asked.
" Of course !" said Daisy.
" Well, Annie Miller !" exclaimed her
" I beg you, madam, to let her go,"
said Winterbonrne, ardently ; for he had
never yet enjoyed the sensation of guid-
ing through the summer starlight a
skiff freighted with a fresh and
beautiful young girl.
" I shouldn't
mother. " I
" I'm sure Mr. AVinterbonrne wants to
take me," Daisy declared. " He's so aw-
fully devoted !'"'
" I will row you over to Chillon in the
"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 pleas-
ant conversation with your mother," said
" 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 Winter-
" 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
langh. "I like a gentleman to be formal'"
" I assm-e 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. Mil-
ler, 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 accom-
pany him ; she only stood there laugh-
" 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 la-
dies. He had apparently just approached.
" Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, " I am go-
ing out in a boat!"
Engenio bowed. " At eleven o'clock,
" I am going with Mr. Winterbonrne —
this very minute."
" Do tell her she can't," said Mrs. Mil-
ler to the courier.
" I think you had better not go out in
a boat, mademoiselle," Eugenio declared.
Winterbonrne 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
"I am at your service," said Winter-
" Does mademoiselle propose to go
alone ?" asked Eugenio of Mrs. Miller.
" Oh, no ; with this gentleman !" an-
swered Daisy's mamma.
The courier looked for a moment at
Winterbonrne — 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
fuss !" And the young girl began to laugh
" Mr. Randolph has gone to bed !" the
courier announced, frigidly.
" Oh, Daisy ; now we can go !" said
Daisy turned away from Winterbourne,
looking at him, smiling, and fanning her-
self. " Good-night," she said ; " I hope
you are disappointed, or disgusted, or
He looked at her, taking the hand she
offered him. '' I am puzzled," he an-
"Well, I hope it won't keep you
awake !" she said, very smartly ; and,
under the escort of the privileged Eu-
genio, the two ladies passed towards the
Winterbourne stood looking after them ;
he was indeed puzzled. He lingered be-
side 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 deuced-
ly " going off " with her somewhere.
Two days afterwards 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 for-
eign tourists, were lounging about and
staring. It was not the place he should
have chosen, but she had appointed it.
She came ti'ipping down-stairs, buttoning
her long gloves, squeezing her folded
parasol against her pretty figure, dressed
in the perfection of a soberly elegant trav-
elling costume. Winterbourne was a man
of imagination and, as our ancestors used
to say, sensibility ; as he looked at her
dress and— on tlie great staircase — her
little rapid, confiding step, he felt as if
there were something romantic going for-
ward. 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 look-
ing at her very hard ; she had begun to
chatter as soon as she joined him.
ence had been that they
should be conveyed to
Chillon in a carriage ;
but she expressed a
lively wish to go in c
the little steam-
er: she de-
clared that she had a passion for steam-
boats. There was always such a lovely
breeze upon the water, and yon saw such
lots of people. Tlie 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 par-
ticular, 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 any
one 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 com-
panion'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 mov-
ing 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 conver-
sation 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 horn-
pipe on the deck ?"
"Pray do, and I'll carry round your
hat. It will pay the exj^enses of our
" I never was better pleased in my
life," murmured Winterbourne.
She looked at him a moment, and then
burst into a little lauo:h. " I like to make
you say those things ! You're a queer
In the castle, after they had landed, the
subjective element decidedly prevailed.
Daisy tripped about the vaulted cham-
bers, 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 Winter-
bourne 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 gener-
ously — Winterbourne, on his side, had
been generous — and ended by leaving
them quite to themselves. Miss Miller's
observations were not remarkable for log-
ical consistency; for anything she wanted
to say she was sure to find a pretext.
She found a great many pretexts in the
niirsfed embrasures of Cliillon for askino^
Wiiiterbourne sudden questions about him-
self — his family, his previous history, his
tastes, his habits, his intentions — and for
supplying information upon correspond-
ing points in her own personality. Of
her own tastes, habits, and intentions Miss
Miller was prepared to give the most def-
inite, and, indeed, the most favorable ac-
" Well, I hope you know enough !" she
said to her companion, after he had told
her the history of the unhappy Bonnivard.
" I never saw a man that knew so much !"
The history of Bonnivard 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 Randolpli ?"
she asked. Winterbourne said that
nothing could possibly
please him so much, but
that he had unfortunately
other occupations. "Other
occupations? I don't be-
lieve 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 en-
gagements which, even within a day or
two, would force him to go back to Gene-
va. " 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 tliat I shall
have to return to-morrow."
"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 min-
utes 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 announce-
ment 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 m^^steri-
si^..' ous charmer of Gene-
va, wliom she appeared
to liav^e instantly tahen it for granted
that he was Imrrying back to see. How
did Miss Daisy Miller know that there
was a charmer in Geneva ? AVinter-
bonrne, 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 jper-
siflage. She seemed to him, in all this,
an extraordinary mixture of innocence
and crudity. "Does she never allow you
more tlian three days at a time ?" asked
Daisy, ironically. " Doesn't she give you
a vacation in summer ? There is no one
so liard 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 1 will go down to the
landing to see her arrive !" Winter-
bourne 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 ap-
pearance. 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
"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
"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, lie would cer-
tainly come. After this Daisy stopped
teasing. Winterbourne took a carriage,
and they drove back to Yevay in the
dusk. The young girl was very quiet.
In tlie evening Winterbourne mention-
ed to Mrs. Costello that he had spent the
afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy
" 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 smell-
ing-bottle. " And that," she exclaimed,
*'is the young person whom you wanted
me to know !"
iNTERBorRNE, wlio had returned to Ge-
neva the day after his excursion to Chil-
lon, went to Rome towards the end of
January. His aunt had been estabh'shed
there for several weeks, and he had re-
ceived a couple of letters from her.
"Those people you were so devoted to
last summer at Yevay 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 Ital-
ians, with whom she rackets about in a
way that makes much talk. Bring me
that pretty novel of Cherbiiliez's — Paule
Mere — and don't come later than the
In the natural course of events, AVin-
terbourne, 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
Yevay, I think I may certainly call upon
them," he said to Mrs. Costello.
"If, after what happens — at Yevay
and everywhere — you desire to keej) up
the acquaintance, you are very welcome.
Of course a man may know every one.
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 informa-
tion. 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 T
"I haven't the least idea. They are
very dreadful people."
AViiiterbouriie meditated a moment.
" They are very ignorant — very innocent
only. Depend upon it they are not bad."
" They are liopelessly vulgar," said
Mrs. Costello. " Whether or no being
liopelessly vulgar is being 'bad ' is a ques-
tion 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 sur-
rounded by half a dozen wonderful mus-
taches checked Winterbourne's impulse
to go straightway to see her. He had,
perhaps, not definitely flattered himself
that he had made an inefiiaceable impres-
sion upon her heart, but he wrs 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 w^indow and asking
herself urgently wdien 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 tw^o or
three other friends. One of these friends
was an American lady who had spent
several winters at Genev^a, where she had
placed her children at school. She was
a very accomplished woman, and she
lived in the Via Gregoriana. Winter-
bonrne found her in a little crimson
drawing-room on a third floor ; the room
w^as filled with southern sunshine. He
had not been there ten minutes when the
servant came in,
Mila !" This announcement was present-
ly followed by the entrance of little
Randolph Miller, who stopped in the
middle of the room and stood staring at
AVinterbourne. An instant later his pret-
ty sister crossed the threshold ; and then,
after a considerable interval, Mrs. Miller
"I know you !" said Randolph.
" I'm sure you know a great many
things," exclaimed AVinterbourne, taking
him by the hand. " How is your educa-
tion coming on ?"
Daisy was exchanging greetings very
prettily with her hostess ; but when she
heard Winterbourne's voice she quick-
ly turned her head. "Well, I de-
clare!" she said.
"I told you I should come, you
know," Wiiiterbourne rejoined, smil-
"Well, I didn't believe it," said Miss
" I am much obliged to you," langlied
the young man.
'' You might have come to see me I"
" I arrived only yesterday."
" I don't believe that !" the young girl
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
"I told you P^ Randolph exclaimed.
" I tell you^ sir !" he added, jocosely, giv-
ing Winterbourne a thump on the knee.
" It is bigger, too !"
Daisy had entered upon a lively con-
versation with her hostess, and Winter-
bourne judged it becoming to address a
few words to her mother. " I hope you'
have been well since we parted at Ye-
vay," he said.
Mrs. Miller now certainly looked at
him — at his chin. " Not very well, sir,'^
" She's got the dyspepsia," said Ean-
-dolph. "I've got it, too. Father's got
it. I've got it most !"
This announcement, instead of embar-
Jrassing Mrs. Miller, seemed to relieve
I her. "I suffer from the liver," she said.
I think it's this climate ; it's less bracing
' than Schenectady, especially in the win-
1^ ^ ter 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
Y, 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 want-
ed 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."
Winterboiirne had a good deal of path-
ological gossip with Dr. Davis's patient,
during which Daisy chattered unremit-
tingly to her own companion. The young
man asked Mrs. Miller how she was
pleased with Kome. " Well, I must say
I am disappointed," she answered. " We
had heard so much about it ; I suppose
we had heard too much. But we couldn't
help that. We had been led to expect
''Ah, wait a little, and you will be-
come very fond of it," said Winter-
" I hate it w^orse and w^orse every day !"
" You are like the infant Hannibal,"
" Xo, 1 ain't !" Randolph declared, at
"You are not much like an infant,"
said his mother. "But we have seen
places," she resumed, " that I should put
a long way before Rome." And in reply
to Winterbourne's interrogation, "There's
Ziirich," she concluded, "I think Ziirich
is lovely; and we hadn't heard half so
much about it."
"The best place we've seen is the City
of Eichmond !" said Kandolph.
"He means the ship," his mother ex-
plained. "We crossed in that ship.
Eandolph had a good time on the Citi/
"It's the best place I've seen," the
child repeated. " Only it was turned the
"Well, we've got to turn the right way
some time," said Mrs. Miller, witli a little
laugh. Winterbourne expressed the hope
that her daughter at least found some
gratification in Rome, and she declared
that Daisy was quite carried away. " It's
on account of the society — the society's
splendid. She goes round everywhere ;
she has made a great number of acquaint-
ances. Of course she goes round more
than I do. I must say they have been
very sociable ; tliey have taken her right
in. And then she knows a great many
gentlemen. Oh, she thinks there's noth-
ing like Eome. Of course, it's a great
deal pleasanter for a young lady if she
knows plenty of gentlemen."
By this time Daisy had turned her
attention again to Winterbourne. "
been telling Mrs. Walker how mean
were !" the young girl announced.
*' And what is the evidence you
have offered ?" asked AVinterbourne,
rather annoyed at Miss Miller's
want of appreciation of the zeal of
an admirer who on his way down
to Eome had stopped neither at
Bologna nor at Florence, simply
because of a certain sentimental
impatience. He remembered that
a cynical compatriot had once told
him that American women — the
pretty ones, and this gave a large-
ness to the axiom — were at once
the most exacting in the world and
the least endowed with a sense of
"Why, you were awfully mean at
Vevay," said Daisy. "You wouldn't
do anything. You wouldn't stay
there when I asked you."
" My dearest young lady," cried
Winterbourne, with eloquence,
" have I come all the waj^ to Rome
to encounter your reproaches ?"
" Just hear him say that !" said
Daisy to her hostess, giving a twist
to a bow on this lady's dress. " Did you
ever hear anything so quaint ?"
" So quaint, my dear f ' murmured Mrs.
Walker, in the tone of a partisan of Win-
" Well, I don't know," said Daisy, fin-
gering Mrs. Walker's ribbons. "Mrs.
Walker, I want to tell yon something."
" Mother-r," interposed Kandolph, with
his rough ends to his words, " I tell you
you've got to go. Eugenio '11 raise —
" I'm not afraid of Eugenio," said Daisy,
with a toss of her head. " Look here,
Mrs. Walker," she went on, " you know
I'm coming to your party."
" I am delighted to hear it."
" I've got a lovely dress !"
"I am very sure of that,"
" But I want to ask a favor — permis-
sion to bring a friend."
" I shall be happy to see any of your
friends," said Mrs. Walker, turning with
a smile to Mrs. Miller.
" Oh, they are not my friends," an-
swered Daisy's mamma, smiling shyly, in
her own fashion. " I never spoke to
" It's an intimate friend of mine — Mr.
Giovanelli," said Daisy, without a tremor
in her clear little voice, or a shadow on
her brilliant little face.
Mrs. AValker was silent a moment; she
gave a rapid glance at Winterbourne. " I
shall be glad to see Mr. Giovanelli," she
"He's an Italian," Daisy pursued, with
the prettiest serenity. "He's a great
friend of mine ; he's the handsomest man
in the world — except Mr. Winterbourne!
He knows plenty of Italians, but he
wants to know some Americans. He
tliinks ever so much of Americans. He's
tremendously clever. He's perfectly
It was settled that this brilliant per-
sonage should be brought to Mrs. Walk-
er's party, and then Mrs. Miller prepared
to take her leave. "I guess we'll go
back to the hotel," she said.
" You may go back to the hotel, moth-
er, but I'm going to take a walk," said
" She's going to walk with Mr. Giova-
nelli," Randolph proclaimed.
" I am going to the Pincio," said Daisy,
" Alone, my dear — at this hour ?" Mrs.
Walker asked. The afternoon was draw-
ing to a close — it w^as the hour for the
throng of carriages and of contemplative
pedestrians. " I don't think it's safe, my
dear," said Mrs. Walker.
" Neither do I," subjoined Mrs. Miller.
"You'll get the fever, as sure as you live.
Kemember what Dr. Davis told you !"
" Give her some medicine before she
goes," said Randolph.
The company had risen to its feet ;
Daisy, still showing her pretty teeth, bent
over and kissed her hostess. " Mrs.
AValker, you are too perfect," she said.
" I'm not going alone ; I am going to
meet a friend."
" Your friend won't keep you from
getting the fever," Mrs. Miller observed.
"Is it Mr. Giovanelli?" asked the
AVinterbourne was watching the young
girl ; at this question his attention
quickened. She stood there smiling
and smoothing her bonnet ribbons ;
she glanced at Winterbourne.
Then, while she glanced and
smiled, she answered, without a
shade of hesitation,*" Mr. Giova-
nelli — the l^oautiful Giovanelli."
" My dear young friend," said Mrs.
Walker, taking her hand, pleadingly,
" don't walk off to the Pincio at this
unhealthy hour to meet a beautiful Ital-
" Well, he speaks English," said Mrs.
'' Gracious me !" Daisy exclaimed, " I
don't want to do anything improper.
There's an easy way to settle it." She
continued to glance at Winterbourne.
''The Pincio is only a hundred yards dis-
tant ; and if Mr. Winterbourne were as
polite as he pretends, he would offer to
walk with me I"
Winterbourne's politeness hastened to
affirm itself, and the young girl gave him
gracious leave to accompany her. They
passed down -stairs before her mother,
and at the door Winterbourne perceived
Mrs. Miller's carriage drawn up, with the
ornamental courier, whose acquaintance
he had made at Yevay, seated within.
" Good-bye, Eugenio !" cried Daisy ; " Pm
o^oino^ to take a walk." The distance
from the Yia Gregoriana to the beautiful
garden at the other end of the Pincian
Hill is, in fact, rapidly traversed. As the
day was splendid, however, and the con-
course of vehicles, walkers, and loungers
numerous, the young Americans found
their progress much delayed. This fact
was highly agreeable to Winter-
bourne, in spite of his conscious-
ness of his singular situation. The
slow-moving, idly-gazing Roman
crowd bestowed much attention
upon the extremely pretty young
foreign lady who was passing
:^ through it upon his arm ; and he
wondered what on earth had been
in Daisy's mind when she pro-
posed to expose herself, unattend-
., ed, to its appreciation. His own
mission, to her sense, apparently,
was to consign her to the hands
of Mr. Giovanelli ; but Winter-
bourne, at once annoyed and grat-
ified, resolved that he would do
no such thing.
"Why haven't you been to see
me ?" asked Daisy. '' You can't
get out of that."
" I have had the honor of tell-
that I have only just
"You must have stayed in the train a
good while after it stopped !" cried the
young girl, with her little laugh. " I
suppose you were asleep. You have had
time to go to see Mrs. Walker."
"I knew Mrs. Walker — " Winter-
bourne began to explain.
"I know where you knew her. You
knew her at Geneva. She told me so.
Well, you knew me at Yevay. That's
just as good. So you ought to have
come." She asked him no other ques-
tion than this ; she began to prattle about
her own affairs. "AYe've got splendid
rooms at the hotel ; Eugenio says they're
the best rooms in Rome. We are going
to stay all winter, if we don't die of the
fever; and I guess we'll stay then. It's
a great deal nicer than I thought ; I
thought it would be fearfully quiet ; I
was sure it would be awfully poky. I
w^as sure we should be going round all
the time with one of those dreadful old
men that explain about the pictures and
things. But we only had about a week
of that, and now I'm enjoying myself.
I know ever so many people, and they
are all so charming. The society's ex-
tremely select. There are all kinds —
English and Germans and Italians. I
think I like the English best. I like
their style of conversation. But there
are some lovely Americans. I never saw
anything so hospitable. There's some-
thing or other every day. There's not
much dancing; but I must say I never
thought dancing was everything. I was
always fond of conversation. I guess I
shall have plenty at Mrs. Walker's, her
rooms are so small." When they had
passed the gate of the Pincian Gardens,
Miss Miller began to wonder where Mr.
Giovanelli might be. "We had better
go straight to that place in front," she
said, " where you look at the view."
" I certainly shall not help you to find
him," Winterbourne declared.
" Then I shall find him without you,"
said Miss Daisy.
"You certainly won't leave me !" cried
She burst into her little laugh. " Are
you afraid you'll get lost — or run over?
But there's Giovanelli, leaning against that
tree. He's staring at the women in the car-
riages ; did you ever see anything so cool ?"
Winterbourne perceived at some dis-
tance a little man standing with folded
arms nursing his cane. He had a hand-
some face, an artfully poised hat, a glass
in one eye, and a nosegay in his button-
hole. AVinterbourne looked at him a
moment, and then said, " Do you mean
to speak to that man ?"
" Do I mean to speak to him ? AVhy,
you don't suppose I mean to communi-
cate by signs ?"
"Pray understand, then," said
Winterbourne, " that I intend to
remain with you."
Daisy stopped and looked at
him, without a sign of troubled
consciousness in her face ; with
nothing but the presence of her
charming eyes and her happy dim-
ples. "Well, she's a cool one!"
thought the young man.
" I don't like the way you say
that," said Daisy. "It's too im-
" I beg your pardon if I say it
wrong. The main point is to give
you an idea of my meaning."
The young girl looked at him
more gravely, but with eyes that
were prettier than ever. " I have
never allowed a gentleman to die-
tate to me, or to interfere with anything
" I think you have made a mistake,"
said Winterbourne. " You should some-
times listen to a gentleman — the right
Daisy began to laugh again. "I do
nothing but listen to gentlemen !" she ex-
claimed. *' Tell me if Mr. Giovanelli is
the right one."
The gentleman with the nosegay in
his bosom had now perceived our two
friends, and was approaching the young
girl with obsequious rapidity. He bowed
to Winterbourne as well as to the latter's
companion ; he had a brilliant smile, an
intelligent eye ; Winterbourne thought
him not a bad -looking fellow. But he
nevertheless said to Daisy, " No, he's not
the right one."
Daisy evidently had a natural talent
for performing introductions ; she men-
tioned the name of each of her compan-
ions to the other. She strolled along
with one of them on each side of her;
Mr. Giovanelli, who spoke English very
cleverly — Winterbourne afterwards learn-
ed that he had practised the idiom upon
a great many American heiresses — ad-
dressed to her a great deal of very
polite nonsense ; lie was extreme-
ly urbane, and the young Ameri-
can, who said nothing, reflected
upon that profundity of Italian
cleverness which enables people
to appear more gracious in pro-
portion as they are more acute-
ly disappointed. Giovanelli, of
course, had counted upon some-
thing more intimate ; he had not
bargained for a party of three.
But he kept his temper in a man-
ner which su,o^o:ested far-stretch-
ing intentions. Winterbourne flattered
himself that he had taken his measure.
" He is not a gentleman," said the young
American ; " he is only a clever imita-
tion of one. He is a music -master, or
a penny-a-liner, or a third-rate artist.
D — n his good looks !" Mr. Giovanelli
had certainly a very pretty face ; but
Winterbourne felt a superior indigna-
tion at his own lovely fellow -country-
woman's not knowing the difference be-
tween a spurious gentleman and a real
one. Giovanelli chattered and jested,
and made himself wonderfully agreeable.
It was true that, if he was an imitation,
the imitation was brilliant. " Neverthe-
less," AVinterbourne said to himself, " a
nice girl ought to know !" And then
he came back to the question whether
this was, in fact, a nice girl. Would a
nice girl, even allowing for her being a
little American flirt, make a rendezvous
with a presumably low-lived foreigner?
The rendezvous in this case, indeed, had
been in broad daylight, and in the most
crowded corner of Rome ; but was it not
impossible to regard the choice of these
circumstances as a proof of extreme cyn-
icism? Singular though it may seem,
Winterbourne was vexed that the young
girl, in joining her amoroso^ should not
appear more impatient of his own com-
pany, and he was vexed because of his
inclination. It was impossible to regard
her as a perfectly well-conducted young
lady ; she was wanting in a certain indis-
pensable delicacy. It would therefore
simplify matters greatly to be able to
treat her as the object of one of those
sentiments which are called by romancers
''lawless passions." That she should seem
to wish to get rid of him would help him
to think more lightly of her, and to be
able to think more lightly of her would
make her much less perplexing. But
Daisy, on this occasion, continued to pre-
sent herself as an inscrutable combination
of audacity and innocence.
She had been walking some quarter of
an hour, attended by her two cavaliers,
and responding in a tone of very childish
gayety, as it seemed to Winterbourne, to
the pretty speeches of Mr. Giovanelli,
when a carriage that had detached itself
from the revolving train drew up beside
the path. At the same moment AVinter-
bourne perceived that his friend Mrs.
Walker — the lady whose house he had
lately left — was seated in the vehicle, and
was beckoning to him. Leaving Miss
Miller's side, he hastened to obey her
summons. Mrs. Walker was flushed ; she
wore an excited air. " It is really too
dreadful," she said. "That girl must
not do this sort of thing. Slie must not
walk here with you two men. Fifty
people have noticed her."
Winterbourne raised his eyebrows. "I
think it's a pity to make too much fuss
"It's a pity to let the girl ruin herself!"
" She is very innocent," said Winter-
" She's very crazy I" cried Mrs. Walker.
" Did you ever see anything so imbecile
as her mother? After you had all left
me just now I could not sit still for
thinking of it. It seemed too pitiful
not even to attempt to save her. I order-
ed the carriage and put on my bonnet,
and came here as quickly as possible.
Thank Heaven I have found you !"
" What do you propose to do with us?"
asked Winterbourne, smilingo
''To ask her to get in, to drive
her about here for half an hour,
so that the world may see
that she is not running ab-
P solutely wild, and then to
take her safely home."
.-^ "I don't think it's a
t^ very happy thought," said
*^ Winterbourne; "but you
Mrs. Walker tried. Tlie young man
went in pursuit of Miss Miller, who had
simply nodded and smiled at his inter-
locutor in the carriage, and had gone her
way with her companion. Daisy, on
learning that Mrs. Walker wished to
speak to her, retraced her steps with a
perfect good grace and with Mr. Giova-
nelli at her side. She declared that she
was delighted to have a chance to present
this gentleman to Mrs. Walker. She im-
mediately achieved the introduction, and
declared that she had never in her life
seen anything so lovely as Mrs. Walker's
"I am glad you admire it," said this
lady, smiling sweetly. " Will you get in
and let me put it over you ?"
" Oh no, thank you," said Daisy. " I
shall admire it much more as I see you
driving round with it."
" Do get in and drive with me !" said
" That would be charming, but it's so
enchanting just as I am !" and Daisy gave
a brilliant glance at the gentlemen on
either side of her.
" It may be enchanting, dear child, but
it is not the custom here," urged Mrs.
Walker, leaning forward in her victoria,
with her hands devoutly clasped.
"Well, it ought to be, then!" said
Daisy. " If I didn't walk I should ex-
" You should walk with your mother,
dear," cried the lady from Geneva, losing
"With my mother, dear!" exclaimed
the young girl. Winterbourne saw that
she scented interference. "My mother
never walked ten steps in her life. And
then, you know," she added, with a laugh,
" I am more than five years old."
" You are old enough to be more rea-
sonable. Y"ou are old enough, dear Miss
Miller, to be talked about."
Daisy looked at Mrs. Walker, smiling
intensely. "Talked about? What do
you mean V
" Come into my carriage, and I will
Daisy turned her quickened glance
again from one of the gentlemen beside
her to the other. Mr. Giovanelli was bow-
ing to and fro, rubbing down his gloves
and laughing very agreeably ; Winter-
bourne thought it a most unpleasant
scene. " I don't think I want to know
what you mean," said Daisy, presently.
'^I don't think I should like it."
Winterbourne wished that Mrs. AYalk-
er would tuck in her carriage -rug and
drive away ; but this lady did not enjoy
being defied, as she afterwards told him.
*' Should you prefer being thought a very
reckless girl?" she demanded.
" Gracious !" exclaimed Daisy. She
looked again at Mr. Giovanelli, then she
turned to Winterbourne. There was a
little pink flush in her cheek ; she was
tremendously pretty. " Does Mr. AVin-
terbourne think," she asked slowly, smil-
ing, throwing back her head and glancing
at him from head to foot, "that, to save
my reputation, I ought to get into the
Winterbourne colored ; for an instant
he hesitated greatly. It seemed so strange
to hear her speak that way of her " repu-
tation." But he himself, in fact, must
speak in accordance with gallantry. The
finest gallantry here was simply to tell
her the truth, and the truth for Winter-
bourne — as the few indications I have
been able to give have made him known
to the reader — was that Daisy Miller
should take Mrs. Walker's advice. He
looked at her exquisite prettiness, and
then said, very gently, " 1 think jou should
get into the carriage."
Daisy gave a violent laugh. " I never
heard anything so stiff! If this is im-
proper, Mrs. Walker," she pursued, "then
I am all improper, and you must give
me up. Good-bye ; I hope you'll have a
lovely ride!" and, with Mr, Giovanelli,
who made a triumphantly obsequious sa-
lute, she turned away.
Mrs. Walker sat looking after her, and
there were tears in Mrs. Walker's eyes.
" Get in here, sir," she said to Winter-
bourne, indicating tlie place beside her.
The young man answered that he felt
bound to accompany Miss Miller; wdiere-
upon Mrs. Walker declared that if he re-
fused her this favor she would never
speak to him again. She was evidently
in earnest. Winterbourne overtook Daisy
and her companion, and, off ering the young
girl his hand, told her that Mrs. Walker
had made an imperious claim upon his
society. He expected that in answer she
would say something rather free, some-
thing to commit herself still further to
that "recklessness" from which Mrs.
Walker had so charitably endeavored to
dissuade her. But she only shook his
hand, hardly looking at him ; while Mr,
Giovanelli hade Iiim farewell with a too
emphatic flourisli of the hat.
Winterbourne was not in the best pos-
sible humor as he took his seat in Mi*s.
Walker's victoria. " That was not clever
of you," he said, candidly, while the vehi-
cle mingled again with the throng of car-
"In such a case," his companion an-
swered, " I don't wish to be clever ; I
wish to be earnest P''
" Well, your earnestness has only of-
fended her and put her off."
*' It has happened very well," said Mrs.
Walker. "If she is so perfectly deter-
mined to comi^romise herself, the sooner
one knows it the better; one can act ac-
" I suspect she meant no harm," Win-
" So I thouglit a month ago. But she
has been going too far."
"What has she been doing?"
" Evervthino^ that is not done here.
Flirting with any man she could pick
up; sitting in corners with mysterious
Italians ; dancing all the evening with
the same partners ; receiving visits at
eleven o'clock at night. Her mother
goes away when visitors come."
" But her brother," said Winterbonrne,
laughing, " sits up till midnight."
" He must be edified by what he sees.
I'm told that at their hotel every one is
talking about her, and that a smile goes
round among all the servants when a gen-
tleman comes and asks for Miss Miller."
" The servants be hanged !" said Win-
terbourne, angrily. " The poor girl's only
fault," he presently added, " is that she
is very uncultivated."
'' She is naturally indelicate," Mrs.
Walker declared. "Take that example
this morning. How long had you known
her at Yevay ?"
"A couple of days."
" Fancy, then, her making it a
personal matter that you should
have left the place !"
Winterbourne was silent for some
moments ; then he said, " I suspect,
Mrs. Walker, that you and I have lived
too long at Geneva!" And he added a
request that she should inform him with
what particular design she had made
him enter her carriasje.
'' I wished to beg you to cease your re-
lations with Miss Miller — not to flirt with
her — to give her no further opportunity
to expose herself — to let her alone, in
" I'm afraid I can't do that," said Win-
terbourne. *' I like her extremely."
'' All the more reason that you shouldn't
help her to make a scandal."
'' There shall be nothing scandalous in
my attentions to her."
*' There certainly will be in the way
she takes them. But I have said what I
had on my conscience," Mrs. Walker pur-
sued. " If you wish to rejoin the young
lady I will put you down. Here, by-the-
way, you have a chance."
The carriage was traversing that part
of the Pincian Garden that overhangs the
wall of Rome and overlooks the beautiful
Villa Borghese. It is bordered by a
large parapet, near which there are sev-
eral seats. One of the seats at a distance
was occupied by a gentleman and a lady,
towards whom Mrs. Walker gave a toss
of her head. At the same moment these
persons rose and walked towards the par-
apet. Winterbourne had asked the coach-
man to stop ; he now descended from
the caiTiage. His companion looked at
him a moment in silence ; then, while he
raised his hat, she drove majestically
away. Winterbourne stood there ; he had
turned his eyes towards Daisy and her
cavalier. They evidently saw no one;
they were too deeply occupied with each
other. When they reached the low gar-
den-wall they stood a moment looking off
at the great flat-topped pine-clusters of
the Villa Borghese ; then Gio vanelli seated
himself familiarly upon the broad ledge
of the wall. The western sun in the op-
posite sky sent out a brilliant shaft through
a couple of cloud-bars, whereupon Daisy's
companion took her parasol out of her
hands and opened it. She came a little
nearer, and he held the parasol over her ;
then, still holding it, he let it rest upon
her shoulder, so that both of their heads
were hidden from Winterbourne. This
young man lingered a moment, then he
began to walk. But he walked — not
towards the couple with the parasol —
towards the residence of his aunt, Mrs.
He flattered himself on the following
day that there was no smiling among the
servants when he, at least, asked for Mrs.
Miller at her hotel. Tliis lady and her
daughter, however, were not at home ;
and on the next day after, repeating his
visit, Winterbourne again had the mis-
fortune not to find them. Mrs. Walker's
party took place on the evening of the
third day, and, in spite of the frigidity
of his last interview with the hostess,
Winterbourne was among the guests.
Mrs. Walker was one of those American
ladies who, while residing abroad, make a
point, in their own phrase, of studying
European society ; and she had on this
occasion collected several specimens of
her diversely-born fellow-mortals to serve,
as it were, as text-books. When AVinter-
borne arrived, Daisy Miller w^as not there,
but in a few moments he saw her mother
come in alone, very shyly and ruefully^
Mrs. Miller's hair above her exposed-
looking temples was more frizzled than
ever. As she approached Mrs. Walker,
Winterbourne also drew near.
" You see I've come all alone," said
poor Mrs. Miller. " I'm so frightened
I don't know what to do. It's the first
time I've ever been to a party alone, es-
pecially in this country. I wanted to
bring Randolph, or Eugenio, or some one,
but Daisy just pushed me off by myself.
I ain't used to ffoino^ round alone."
" And does not your daughter intend
to favor us with her society ?" demanded
Mrs. Walker, impressiv^ely.
" Well, Daisy's all dressed," said Mrs.
Miller, with that accent of the dispassion-
ate, if not of the philosophic, historian
with which she always recorded the cur-
rent incidents of her daughter's career.
" She got dressed on purpose before din-
ner. But she's got a friend of hers there;
that gentleman — the Italian — that she
wanted to bring. They've got going at
the piano; it seems as if they couldn't
leave off. Mr. Giov^anelli sings splendid-
ly. But I guess they'll come before very
long," concluded Mrs. Miller, hopefully.
"I'm sorry she should come in that
way," said Mrs. Walker.
" AYell, I told her that there was no
use in her getting dressed before dinner
if she was going to wait three hours," re-
sponded Daisy's mamma. " I didn't see
the use of her putting on such a dress as
that to sit round with Mr. Giovanelli."
" This is most horrible !" said Mrs.
Walker, turning away and addressing her-
self to Winterbourne. ^^Elle iaffiche. It's
her revenge for my having ventured
to remonstrate witli her. When she
comes I shall not speak to her."
:?j-oI Daisy came after eleven o'clock ; |g^/dJ
but she was not, on such an occasion,
a young lady to wait to be spoken to.
She rustled forward in radiant loveli-
ness, smiling and chattering, carrying
/f^ a large bouquet, and attended by Mr.
Giovanelli. Every one stopped talk-
ing, and turned and looked at her.
She came straight to Mrs. Walker.
^' I'm afraid you thought I never was
coming, so I sent mother off to tell
you. I wanted to make Mr. Giova-
nelli practise some things before he
came ; you know he sings beautifully,
and I want you to ask him to sing.
This is Mr. Giovanelli ; you know I
introduced him to you ; he's got the
most lovely voice, and he knows the
most charming set of songs. I made
him go over them this evening on pur-
pose ; we had the greatest time at the
hotel." Of all this Daisy delivered
herself with the sweetest, brightest
audibleness, looking now at her host-
ess and now round the room, while she
gave a series of little pats round her
shoulders to the edges of her dress. " Is
there any one I know ?" she asked.
" I think every one knows you !" said
Mrs. Walker, pregnantly, and she gave a
very cursory greeting to Mr. Giovanelli.
This gentleman bore himself gallantly.
He smiled and bowed, and showed his
white teeth ; he curled his mustaclies and
rolled his eyes, and performed all the
proper functions of a handsome Italian
at an evening party. He sang very pret-
tily half a dozen songs, though Mrs.
Walker afterwards declared that she had
been quite unable to find out who asked
him. It was apparently not Daisy who
had given him his orders. Daisy sat at a
distance from the piano ; and though she
had publicly, as it were, professed a high
admiration for his singing, talked, not in-
audibly, wdiile it was going on.
" It's a pity these rooms are so small ;
we can't dance," she said to Winter-
bourne, as if she had seen him five min-
" I am not sorry w^e can't dance," Win-
terbourne answered ; "I don't dance."
" Of course you don't dance ; you're
too stiff," said Miss Dais}-. " I hope you
enjoyed your drive with Mrs. Walker I"
" No, I didn't enjoy it ; I j^referred
walking with you."
" We paired off; that was much better,"
said Daisy. " But did you ever hear any-
thino; so cool as Mrs. Walker's Avantino^
nie to get into her carriage and drop poor
Mr. Giovanelli, and under the pretext
that it was proper ? People have differ-
ent ideas ! It would have been most un-
kind ; he had been talking about that
walk for ten days."
"He should not have talked about it
at all," said Winterbourne ; " he would
never have proposed to a young lady of
this country to walk about the streets
"About the streets?" cried Daisy, with
her pretty stare. " Where, then, would
he have proposed to her to walk? The
Pincio is not the streets, either; and I,
thank goodness, am not a young lady of
this country. The young ladies of this
country have a dreadfully poky time of
it, so far as I can learn ; I don't see why
I should change my habits for theiny
"1 am afraid your habits are those of
a flirt," said Winterbourne, gravely.
*' Of course they are," she cried, giving
him her little smiling stare again. " I'm
a fearful, frightful flirt ! Did you ever
hear of a nice girl that was not ? But I
suppose you will tell me now that I am
not a nice girl."
" You're a very nice girl ; but I wish
you w^ould flirt with me, and me only,"
"Ah! thank you — thank you xery
much; you are the last man I should
think of flirting with. As I have had
the pleasure of informing you, you are
" You say that too often," said Winter-
Daisy gave a delighted laugh. " If I
could have the sweet hope of making you
angry, I should say it again."
" Don't do that ; when I am angry I'm
stiffer than ever. But if you won't flirt
with me, do cease, at least, to flirt with
your friend at the piano ; they don't
understand that sort of tiling here."
" I thought they understood nothing
else !" exclaimed Daisy.
" I^ot in young unmarried women."
" It seems to me much more proper in
A'ouno^ unmarried women than in old mar-
ried ones," Daisy declared.
" Well," said Winterbourne, " when
you deal with natives you must go by the
custom of the place. Flirting is a purely
American custom ; it doesn't exist here.
So when you show yourself in public
with Mr. Giovanelli, and without your
mother — "
" Gracious ! poor mother !" interposed
" Though you may be flirting, Mr.
Giovanelli is not; he means something
"■ He isn't preaching, at any rate," said
Daisy, with vivacity. '' And if you want
very much to know, we are neither of us
flirting ; we are too good friends for that :
we are very intimate friends."
" Ah !" rejoined Winterbourne, " if you
are in love with each other, it is another
She had allowed him up to this point
to talk so frankly that he had no expec-
tation of shocking her by this ejacula-
tion ; but she immediately got up, blush-
ing visibly, and leaving him to exclaim
mentally that little American flirts were
the queerest creatures in the world. "Mr.
Giovanelli, at least," she said, giving her
interlocutor a single glance, " never says
such very disagreeable things to me."
Winterbourne was bewildered ; he stood
staring. Mr. Giovanelli had finished sing-
ing. He left the piano and came over to
Daisy. " AVon't you come into the other
room and have some tea?" he asked,
bending before her with his ornamental
Daisy turned to Winterbourne, begin-
ning to smile again. He was still more
perplexed, for this inconsequent smile
made nothing clear, though it seemed to
prove, indeed, that she had a sweetness
and softness that reverted instinctively to
tlie pardon of offences. " It has never
occurred to Mr. Winterbourne to offer
me any tea," she said, with her little tor-
" I have offered you advice," Winter-
" I prefer weak tea !" cried Daisy, and
she went off with the brilliant Giovanelli.
She sat with him in the adjoining room,
in the embrasure of the window, for the
rest of the evening. There was an in-
teresting performance at the piano, but
neither of these young people gave heed
to it. When Daisy came to take leave of
Mrs. Walker, this lady conscientiously
repaired the w^eakness of which she had
been guilty at the moment of the young
gii'l's arrival. She turned her back straight
upon Miss Miller, and left her to depart
she miofht. Winter-
bourne was standing near
the door; he
saw it all. Daisy turned very pale, and
looked at her mother; but Mrs. Miller
was humbly unconscious of any violation
of the usual social forms. She appeared,
indeed, to have felt an incongruous im-
pulse to draw^ attention to her own striking
observance of them. " Good-night, Mrs.
Walker," she said; "we've had a beauti-
ful evening. You see, if I let Daisy come
to parties without me, I don't want her
to go away without me." Daisy turned
away, looking with a pale, grave face at
the circle near the door; Winterbourne
saw that, for the first moment, she was
too much shocked and puzzled even for
indignation. He on his side was greatly
"That was very cruel," he said to Mrs.
"She never enters my drawing-room
again !" replied his hostess.
Since Winterbourne was not to meet
her in Mrs. Walker's drawing-room, he
went as often as possible to Mrs. Miller's
hotel. The ladies were rarely at home ;
but when he found them the devoted
Giovanelli was always present. Very
often the brilliant little Roman was in
the drawing-room with Daisy alone, Mrs.
Miller being apparently constantly of the
opinion that discretion is the better part
of surveillance. Winterbourne noted, at
"first with surprise, that Daisy on these
occasions was never embarrassed or an-
noyed by his own entrance ; but he very
presently began to feel that she had no
more surprises for him ; the unexpected
iu her behavior was the onl}^ thing to ex-
pect. She showed no displeasure at her
tete-a-tete with Giovanelli being inter-
rupted ; slie could chatter as freshly and
freely with two gentlemen as with one ;
there was always, in her conversation, the
same odd mixture of audacity and pue-
rility. AVinterbourne remarked to him-
self that if she was seriously interested in
Giovanelli, it was very singular that she
should not take more trouble to preserve
the sanctity of their interviews ; and he
liked her the more for her innocent-look-
ing indifference and her apparently inex-
haustible good-humor. He could hardly
have said why, but she seemed to him a
girl who would never be jealous. At
the risk of exciting a somewhat derisive
smile on the reader's part, 1 may affirm
that with regard to the women who had
hitherto interested him, it very often
seemed to Winterbourne among the possi-
bilities that, given certain contingencies,
he should be afraid — literally afraid — of
these ladies ; he had a pleasant sense that
he should never be afraid of Daisy Miller.
It must be added that this sentiment was
not altogether flattering to Daisy ; it was
part of his conviction, or rather of
his apprehension, that she would
prove a very light young person.
But she was evidently very
much interested in Giovanelli.
She looked at him whenever he
spoke ; she was perpetually tell-
ing him to do this and to do that ;
she was constantly *' chaffing " and
abusing him. She appeared com-
pletely to have forgotten that
Winterbourne had said anything
to displease her at Mrs. Walker's
little party. One Sunday after-
noon, having gone to St. Peter's
with his aunt, Winterbourne per-
ceived Daisy strolling about the
great church in company
with the inevitable Giova-
nelli. Presently he point-
ed out the young girl and
her cavalier to Mrs. Costel-
lo. This lady looked at them a moment
through her eye-glass, and then she said,
" That's what makes you so pensive in
these days, eh ?"
" I had not the least idea I was pen-
sive," said the young man.
" You are very much preoccupied ; you
are thinking of something."
" And what is it," he asked, " that you
accuse me of thinking of f
" Of that young hidy's — Miss Baker's,
Miss Chandler's — what's her name ? —
Miss Miller's intrigue with that little bar-
'' Do you call it an intrigue," Winter-
bourne asked — " an affair that goes on
with such peculiar publicity?"
'' That's their folly," said Mrs. Costello;
" it's not their merit."
^' No," rejoined Winterbourne, with
something of that pensiveness to which
his aunt had alluded. "I don't believe
that there is anything to be called an
" I have heard a dozen people speak of
it ; they say she is quite carried away by
" They are certainly very intimate,"
Mrs. Costello inspected the young
couple again with her optical instrument.
'' He is very handsome. One easily sees
how it is. She thinks him the most ele-
gant man in the world — the finest gentle-
man. She has never seen anything like
him ; he is better, even, than the courier.
It was the courier, probably, who intro-
duced him ; and if he succeeds in marrying
the young lady, the courier will come in
for a magnificent commission."
" I don't believe she thinks of marrying
him," said Winterbourne, " and I don't
believe he hopes to marry her."
" You may be very sure she thinks of
nothing. She goes on from day to day,
from hour to hour, as they did in the
Golden Age. I can imagine nothing more
vulgar. And at the same time," added
Mrs. Costello, " depend upon it that she
may tell you any moment that she is
' engaged.' "
'' I think that is more than Giovanelli
expects," said Winterbourne.
" Who is Giovanelli ?"
" The little Italian. I have asked ques-
tions about Jiim, and learned something.
He is apparently a perfectly respect-
able little man. I believe he is, in a
small way, a cavalier e avvocato. But he
doesn't move in what are called the first
circles. I think it is really not absolutely
impossible that the courier introduced
him. He is evidently immensely
charmed with Miss Miller. If
"^'^ she thinks him the finest gen-
tleman in the world, he, on his
side, has never found himself in per-
sonal contact with snch splendor,
snch opulence, snch expensiveness,
as this Yonns^ lady's. And then she
must seem to him wonderfully pret-
ty and interesting. I rather doubt
that he dreams of marrying her.
That must appear to him too im-
possible a piece of luck. He has
nothing but his handsome face to
offer, and there is a substantial Mr.
Miller in that mysterious land of
dollars. Giovanelli knows that he
hasn't a title to offer. If he were
only a count or a marchese ! He
must wonder at his luck, at the way they
have taken him up."
'' He accounts for it by his handsome
face, and thinks Miss Miller a young lady
qid se passe ses fantaisies P^ said Mrs.
" It is very true," Winterbourne pur-
sued, " that Daisy and her mamma have
not yet risen to that stage of — what shall
I call it ? — of culture, at which the idea
of catching a count or a oiiarchese begins.
I believe that they are intellectually in-
capable of that conception."
" Ah ! but the avvocato can't believe
it," said Mrs. Costello.
Of the observation excited by Daisy's
" intrigue," Winterbourne gathered that
day at St. Peter's sufficient evidence. A
dozen of the American colonists in Rome
came to talk with Mrs. Costello, who sat
on a little portable stool at the base of
one of the great pilasters. The vesper
service was going forward in splendid
chants and organ -tones in the adjacent
choir, and meanwhile, between Mrs. Cos-
tello and her friends, there was a great
deal said about poor little Miss Miller's
going really " too far." Winterbourne
was not pleased with what he heard ; but
out upon tlie ^reat steps
of the church, lie saw Daisy, who had
emerged before him, get into an open
cab with her accomplice and roll away
through the cynical streets of Rome, he
could not deny to himself that she was
going very far indeed. He felt very
sorry for her — not exactly that he be-
lieved that she had completely lost her
head, but because it was painful to hear
so much that was pretty and u ndefended
and ru vhii-nl nssignf^rl to a v ulirar plac e
a mono^ the cateo^ories o f disorder. He
made an attempt after this to give a hint
to Mrs. Miller. He met one day in the
Corso a friend, a tourist like himself, who
had just come out of the Doria Palace,
where he had been walking through the
beautiful gallery. His friend talked for
a moment about the superb portrait of
Innocent X., by Yelasquez, which hangs
in one of the cabinets of the palace, and
then said, " And in the same cabinet, b}-
the-way, I had the pleasure of contem-
plating a picture of a different kind — that
pretty American girl whom you pointed
out to me last week." In answer to
Winterbourne's inquiries, his friend nar-
rated that the pretty American girl — •
prettier than ever — was seated with a
companion in the sechided nook in which
the great papal portrait was enshrined.
" Who was her companion ?" asked
" A little Italian with a bouquet in his
button-hole. The girl is delightfully pret-
ty ; but I thought I understood from you
the other day that she was a young lady
du tneilleur monder
"So she is!" answered Winterbourne;
and having assured himself that his in-
formant had seen Daisy and her compan-
ion but five minutes before, he jumped
into a cab and went to call on Mrs. Miller.
She was at home ; but she apologized to
him for receiving him in Daisy's absence.
"She's gone out somewhere with Mr.
Giovanelli," said Mrs. Miller. " She's al-
ways going round with Mr. Giovanelli."
" I have noticed that they are very in-
timate," Winterbourne observed.
" Oh, it seems as if they couldn't live
without each other!" said Mrs. Miller.
" Well, he's a real gentleman, anyhow. I
keep telling Daisy she's engaged !"
" And what does Daisy say ?"
" Oh, she says she isn't engaged. But
she might as well be!" this impartial
parent resumed ; " she goes on as if she
was. But I've made Mr. Giovanelli
promise to tell me, if she doesn't. I
should want to write to Mr. Miller
about it — shouldn't you?"
Winterbourne replied that he cer-
tainly should ; and the state of mind
of Daisy's mamma struck him as so
unprecedented in the annals of parent-
al vigilance that he gave up as utterly
irrelevant the attempt to place her
upon her guard.
After this Daisy was never at home,
and Winterbourne ceased to meet her
at the houses of their common acquaint-
ances, because, as he perceived, these ^
shrewd people had quite made up their
minds that she was going too far. Tliej
ceased to invite her ; and they intimat-
ed that they desired to express to ob-
servant Europeans the great truth that,
though Miss Daisy Miller was a young
American lady, her beliavior was not
representative — was regarded by her
compatriots as abnormal. Winter-
bourne wondered how she felt about
all the cold shoulders that were turned "^^
towards her, and sometimes it annoyed ^^
^ r ■^
him to suspect that she did not feel at
all. He said to himself that she was too
light and childish, too uncnltivated and
unreasoning, too provincial, to have re-
flected upon her ostracism, or even to
have perceived it. Then at other mo-
ments he believed that she carried about
in her elegant and irresponsible little or-
ganism a defiant, passionate, perfectly ob-
servant consciousness of the impression
she produced. He asked himself whether
Daisy's defiance came from the conscious-
ness of innocence, or from her being, es-
sentially, a young person of the reckless
class. It must be admitted that holding
one's self to a belief in Daisy's "inno-
cence" came to seem to Winterbourne
more and more a matter of fine-spun gal-
lantry. As I have already had occasion
to relate, he was angry at finding him-
self reduced to chopping logic about
this young lady ; he was vexed at his
want of instinctive certitude as to how
far her eccentricities were generic, na-
tional, and how far they were personal.
From either view of them he had some-
how missed her, and now it was too late.
She was " carried away " by Mr. Giova-
A few days after liis brief interview
with her mother, he encountered lier in
that beautiful abode of flowering desola-
tion known as tlie Palace of the Caesars.
The early Roman spring had filled the air
with bloom and perfume, and the rugged
surface of the Palatine was nnifiled with
tender verdure. Daisy was strolling along
the top of one of those great mounds of
ruin that are embanked with mossy mar-
ble and paved with monumental inscrip-
tions. It seemed to him that Pome had
never been so lovely as just then. He
stood looking off at the enchanting har-
mony of line and color that remotely en-
circles the city, inhaling the softly humid
odors, and feeling the freshness of the
year and the antiquity of the place reaf-
firm themselves in mysterious interfusion.
It seemed to him, also, that Daisy had
never looked so pretty ; but this had been
an observation of his whenever he met
her. Giovanelli was at her side, and Gio-
vanelli, too, wore an aspect of even un-
" Well," said Daisy, " I should think
you would be lonesome !"
"Lonesome?" asked Winterbourne.
" You are always going round by your-
self. Can't joxi get any one to walk with
" I am not so fortunate," said Winter-
bourne, " as your companion."
Giovanelli, from the first, had treated
Winterbourne with distinguished polite-
ness. He listened with a deferential air
to his remarks ; he laughed punctiliously
at his pleasantries ; he seemed disposed
to testify to his belief that Winterbourne
was a superior young man. He carried
himself in no degree like a jealous wooer ;
he had obviously a great deal of tact ; he
had no objection to your expecting a lit-
tle humility of him. It even seemed to
Winterbourne at times that Giovanelli
would find a certain mental relief in be-
ing able to have a private understanding
with him — to say to him, as an intelligent
man, that, bless you, he knew how extraor-
dinary was this young lady, and didn't
flatter himself with delusive — or, at least,
too delusive — hopes of matrimony and
dollars. On this occasion he strolled away
from his companion to pluck a sprig of
almond-blossom, which he carefully ar-
ranged in his button-hole.
" I know why you say that," said Daisy,
watching Giovanelli. " Because you think
I jxo round too much with lihnr And
she nodded at her attendant.
" Every one thinks so — if you care
to know," said Winterbourne.
"Of course I care to know!" Daisy
exclaimed, seriously. " But I don't
beljeve it. They are only pretending
to be shocked. They don't really care
a straw what I do. Besides, I don't
go round so much."
" I think you will find they do care.
They will show it disagreeably."
Daisy looked at him a moment.
"Haven't you noticed anything?"
"I have noticed you. But I no-
ticed you were as stiff as an umbrella
the first time I saw you."
"You will find I am not so stiff as
several others," said AYinterbourne,
"How shall I find it?"
" By going to see the others."
" What will they do to me ?"
" They will give you the cold shoul-
der. Do you know w^hat that means ?"
Daisy was looking at him intently;
she began to color.
" Do you mean as Mrs. Walker did the
other night V
" Exactly !" said Winterbourne.
She looked away at Giovanelli, who
was decorating himself with his almond-
blossom. Then, looking back at Winter-
bourne, "I shouldn't think you would let
people be so unkind !"' she said.
"How can I help it?" he asked.
" I should think you would say some-
" I did say something ;" and he paused
a moment. "I say that your mother tells
me that she believes you are engaged."
" Well, she does," said Daisy, very
Winterbourne began to laugh. "And
does Randolph believe it?" he asked.
" I guess Randolph doesn't believe any-
thing," said Daisy. Randolph's scepti-
cism excited Winterbourne to further
hilarity, and he observed that Giovanelli
was coming back to them. Daisy, ob-
serving it too, addressed herself again to
her countryman. " Since you have men-
tioned it," she said, " I am engaged." . . .
Winterbourne looked at her; he had
stopped laughing. "You don't believe
it !'' she added.
lie was silent ii nionieiit ; and then,
*' Yes, I believe it," he said.
" Oh no, jou don't !" she answered.
" Well, then— I am not !"
The young girl and her cicerone were
on their way to the gate of the enclosure,
so that Winterbourne, who had but lately
entered, presently took leave of them.
A week afterwards he went to dine at a
beautiful villa on the Gielian Hill, and,
on arriving, dismissed his hired vehicle.
The evening was charming, and he prom-
ised himself the satisfaction of walking
home beneath the Arch of Constantine
and past the vaguely-lighted monuments
of the Forum. There w^as a waninor moon
in the sky, and her radiance was not brill-
iant, but she was veiled in a thin cloud-
curtain which seemed to diffuse and equal-
ize it. When, on his return from the
villa (it was eleven o'clock), Winterbourne
approached the dusky circle of the Col-
osseum, it occurred to him, as a lover of
the picturesque, that the interior, in the
pale moonshine, would be well worth a
glance. He turned aside and walked to
one of the empty arches, near w^hich, as
lie observed, an open carriage — one of
the little Roman street-cabs — was sta-
tioned. Then he passed in, among the
cavernous shadows of the great structure,
and emerged upon the clear and silent
arena. The place had never seemed to
him more impressive. One-half of the
gigantic circus was in deep shade, the
other was sleeping in the himinous dusk.
As he stood tliere lie began to murmur
Byron's famous lines, out of "Manfred ;"
but before he had finished his ([notation
he remembered that if nocturnal medita-
tions in the Colosseum are recommended
by tlie poets, they are deprecated by the
doctors. The historic atmosphere was
there, certainly ; but the historic atmos-
phere, scientifically considered, was no
better than a villanous miasma. Winter-
bourne walked to the middle of the arena,
to take a more general glance, intending
thereafter to make a hasty retreat. The
great cross in the centre was covered with
shadow ; it was only as he drew near it that
he made it out distinctly. Then he saw
that two persons were stationed upon the
low steps which formed its base. One of
these was a woman, seated ; her compan-
ion was standing in front of her.
Presently the sound of the woman's
voice came to him distinctly in the warm
night air. "Well, he looks at us as one
of the old lions or tigers may have looked
at the Christian martyrs !" These were
the words he heard, in the familiar accent
of Miss Daisy Miller.
" Let us hope he is not very hungry,"
responded the ingenious Giovanelli. " He
will have to take me first ; you will serve
for dessert !"
Winterbourne stopped, with a sort of
horror, and, it must be added, with a sort
of relief. It was as if a sudden illumina-
tion had been flashed upon the ambiguity
of Daisy's behavior, and the riddle had
become easy to read. She was a young
lady whom a gentleman need no longer
be at pains to respect. He stood there
looking at her — looking at her compan-
ion, and not reflecting that though he saw
them vaguely, he himself must have been
more brightly visible. He felt angry
with himself that he had bothered so
much about the right way of regarding
Miss Daisy Miller. Then, as he was go-
ing to advance again, he checked himself;
not from the fear that he was doing her
injustice, but from the sense of the dan-
ger of appearing unbecomingly exhila-
rated by this sudden revulsion from cau-
tious criticism. He turned away towards
the entrance of the place, but, as he did
so, he heard Daisy speak again.
" Why, it was Mr. Winterbourne ! He
saw me, and he cuts me !"
What a clever little reprobate she was,
and how smartly she played at injured
innocence ! But he wouldn't cut her.
Winterbourne came forward again, and
went towards the great cross. Daisy had
got up ; Giovanelli lifted liis hat. Win-
terbourne had now begun to think simply
of the craziness, from a sanitary point of
view, of a delicate young girl lounging
away the evening in this nest of malaria.
What if she loere a clever little rep-
robate? that was no reason for her dying
of the perniciosa. " How long have
you been here ?" he asked, almost
Daisy, lovely in the flattering moon-
light, looked at him a moment. Then
— " All the evening," she answered,
gently. ..." I never saw anything so
"I am afraid," said Win-
terbourne, "that you will not
think Roman fever very pret-
ty. This is the way people
catch it. I wonder," he added.
turning to Giovanelli, "that
you, a native Homan, should countenance
such a terrible indiscretion."
" Ah," said the handsome native, " for
myself I am not afraid."
" Neither am I — for you ! I am speak-
ing for this young lady."
Giovanelli lifted his well-shaped eye-
brows and showed his brilliant teeth. But
he took Winterbourne's rebuke with do-
cility. "I told the signorina it was a
grave indiscretion ; but when was the sign-
orina ever prudent ?"
" I never was sick, and I don't mean to
be !" the signorina declared. " I don't
look like much, but I'm healthy ! I was
bound to see the Colosseum by moonlight;
I shouldn't have wanted to go home with-
out that ; and we have had the most beau-
tiful time, haven't we, Mr. Giovanelli ? If
there has been any danger, Engenio can
give me some pills. He has got some
" I should advise you," said Winter-
bourne, " to drive home as fast as possi-
ble and take one !"
" What you say is very wise," Giova-
nelli rejoined. "I will go and make sure
the carriage is at hand." And he went
Daisy followed with AVinterbourne.
He kept looking at her ; she seemed
not in the least embarrassed. Wiii-
terbourne said nothing ; Daisy chat-
tered about the beauty of the place.
" Well, I have seen the Colosseum by
moonlight!'' she exclaimed. "That's
one good thing." Then, noticing
Winterbourne's silence, she asked
him why he didn't speak, lie made
no answer ; he only began to laugh.
They passed under one of the dai
archways ; Giovanelli was in front
with the carriage. Here Daisy
stopped a moment, looking at the
young American. '''Did you believe
I was engaged the other day?" she
" It doesn't matter what I be-
lieved the other day," said
Winterbourne,still laughing. ^^
" Well, what do you be-
lieve now ?"
" I believe that it makes very lit
tie difference whether you are en
gaged or not!"
He felt the young girl's pretty eyes
fixed upon him through the thick gloom
of the archway; she was apparently go-
ing to answer. But Giovanelli hurried
her forward. " Quick ! quick !" he said ;
" if we get in by midnight we are quite
Daisy took her seat in the carriage, and
the fortunate Italian placed himself be-
side her. " Don't forget Eugenio's pills !"
said Winterbourne, as he lifted his hat.
" I don't care," said Daisy, in a little
strange tone, " whether I have Roman
fever or not !" Upon this the cab-driver
cracked his whip, and they rolled away
over the desultory patches of the antique
Winterbourne, to do him justice, as it
were, mentioned to no one that he had
encountered Miss Miller, at midnight, in
the Colosseum with a gentleman ; but,
nevertheless, a couple of days later, the
fact of her having been there under these
circumstances w^as known to every mem-
ber of the little American circle, and com-
mented accordingly. Winterbourne re-
flected that they had of course known it
at the hotel, and that, after Daisy's return,
there had been an exchange of remarks
between the porter and the cab-driver.
But the young man was conscious, at the
same moment, tliat it liad ceased to be a
matter of serious regret to liim that the
little American flirt should be " talked
about" by low-minded menials. These
people, a day or two later, had serious in-
formation to give : the little American
flirt was alarmingly ill. Winterbourne,
when the rumor came to him, immedi-
ately w^ent to the hotel for more news.
He found that two or three charitable
friends had preceded him, and that they
were being entertained in Mrs. Miller's
salon by Kandolph.
" It's going round at night," said Kan-
dolph — " that's what made her sick. She's
always going round at night. I shouldn't
think she'd want to, it's so plaguy dark.
You can't see anything here at night, ex-
cept when there's a moon ! In America
there's always a moon !" Mrs. Miller was
invisible ; she was now, at least, giving
her daughter the advantage of her society.
It was evident that Daisy was dangerous-
Winterbourne went often to ask for
news of her, and once he saw Mrs. Miller,
who, though deeply alarmed, was, rather
to his surprise, perfectly composed, and,
as it appeared, a most efficient and judi-
cious nurse. She talked a good deal about
Dr. Davis, but Winterbourne paid her the
compliment of saying to himself that she
was not, after all, such a monstrous goose.
" Daisy spoke of you the other day," she
said to him. " Half the time she doesn't
know what she's saying, but that time I
think she did. She gave me a message.
She told me to tell you — she told me to
tell you that she never was engaged to
that handsome Italian. I am sure I am
very glad. Mr. Giovanelli hasn't been
near us since she was taken ill. I thought
he was so much of a gentleman ; but I
don't call that very polite ! A lady told
me that he was afraid I was angry with
him for taking Daisy round at night.
Well, so I am ; but I suppose he knows
I'm a lady. I would scorn to scold him.
Anyway, she says she's not engaged. I
don't know why she wanted you to know ;
but she said to me three times, 'Mind
you tell Mr. Winterbourne.' And then
she told me to ask if you remembered
the time you went to that castle in Switz-
erland. But I said I wouldn't give any
such messages as that. Only, if she is
not engaged, I'm sure Tni glad to know
But, as Winterboiirne had said, it mat-
tered very little. A week after this the
poor girl died ; it had been a terrible case
of the fever. Daisy's grave was in the
little Protestant cemetery, in an angle of
the wall of imperial Rome, beneath the
cypresses and the thick spring -flowers.
Winterbourne stood there beside it, with.
a number of other mourners — a number
larger than the scandal excited by the
young lady's career would have led you
to expect. Near him stood Giovanelli,
who came nearer still before Winterbourne
turned away. Giovanelli was very pale :
on this occasion he had no flower in his
button-hole ; he seemed to wish to say
something. At last he said, "She was
the most beautiful young lady I ever
saw, and the most amiable;" and then he
added in a moment, "and she was the
Winterbourne looked at him, and pres-
ently repeated his words, " And the most
" The most innocent !"
Winterbourne felt sore and angry.
" Why the devil," he asked, " did you
take her to that fatal place V
Mr. Giovanelli's urbanity was appar-
ently imperturbable. He looked on the
ground a moment, and then he said, " For
myself I had no fear ; and she wanted to
" That was no reason !" Winterbourne
The subtle Roman again dropped his
eyes. " If she had lived, I should have
got notliing. She would never have mar-
ried me, I am sure."
" She would never have married you ?"
" For a moment I hoped so. But no.
I am sure."
Winterbourne listened to him : he stood
staring at the raw protuberance among
tlie April daisies. When he turned away
again, Mr. Giovanelli with his light, slow
step, had retired.
Winterbourne almost immediately left
Rome ; but the following summer he
again met his aunt, Mrs. Costello, at Ye-
vay. Mrs. Costello was fond of Yevay.
In the interval Winterbourne had often
thought of Daisy Miller and her mystify-
ing manners. One day he spoke of her to
his aunt — said it was on his conscience
that he had done her injustice.
"I am sure I don't know," said Mrs.
Costello. " How did your injustice affect
"She sent me a message before her
death which I didn't understand at the
time ; but I have understood it since. She
would have appreciated one's esteem."
" Is tliat a modest way," asked Mrs.
Costello, " of saying that she would have
reciprocated one's affection ?"
Winterbourne offered no answer to this
question ; but lie presently said, " You
were riglit in that remark that you made
last summer. I was booked to make a
mistake. I have lived too long in foreign
Nevertheless, he went back to live at
Geneva, whence there continue to come
the most contradictory accounts of his
motives of sojourn : a report that he is
"studying" hard — an intimation that he
is much interested in a very clever foreign