(>.-. t> university of Connecticut I libraries 3 11S3 o□^^b8s^ h f Daisy Miller BY HENRY JAMES, JR., ILLUS- TRATED FROM DRAWINGS BY HARRY W. McVICKAR HARPER & BROTHERS NEW YORK AND LONDON M-D-C-C-C-C-I f <^ Copyright, 1878, by Harper & Brothers. Copyright, 1892, by Harper & Brothers. All rights reserved. PAGE Frontispiece i Heading. Part 1 3 Little Polish Boy 5 Winterbourue .9 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 Geneva 45 Chillon 48 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 Violin 68 Winterbourne's Idea of Daisy Miller . . . . 71 "The best place we saw is the City of Richmond " . . 74 Decoration 76 Mr. Giovanelli 79 The Pope's Arms 81 A Corner in Rome 84 A Quill-driver's Tools ........ 87 Tubes 90 Mrs. Walker ... 93 V PAGE 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 Decoration 119 Colosseum (the DeadljMMiasma!) 122 Eugenio 125 Requiem 127 Daisy's Grave ... ..... 131 L 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- lon. 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 had almost always a headache — 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 young. 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 teeth. " Oh, blazes ; it's har-r-d !" he exclaim- ed, pronouncing the adjective in a pecul- iar manner. 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 \:^ makes them come out. In America they didn't come out. It's these hotels." 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 candy." " 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 !" laughed Winterbourne. " Are you an American man ?" pur- sued this vivacious infant. And then, on Winterbourne's affirmative reply — "American men are the best!" lie de- clared. 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- can girl." Winterbourne looked along the path and saw a beautiful young lady advanc- ing. " American girls are the best girls !" 10 he said, cheerfully, to his young com- panion. " 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. 11 " That's the way they come down," said Winterbourne. " 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 simply observed. 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- spect. The young lady glanced at him again. " Yes, sir," she replied. And she said nothing more. *' Are you — a — going over the Sim- plon ?" Winterbourne pursued, a little embarrassed. 13 " 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 to America." '' Oh, Italy is a beautiful place !" re- joined the young man. " Can you get candy there ?" Randolph loudly inquired. " 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 14 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. 15 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- bourne, laughing, 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, indicating AVinterbourne. 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 than Europe." 17 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?" Winterbourne inquired. " 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 18 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 very smart." " 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 Winterbourne. " 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- 19 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 20 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 Winterbourne. " 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 society some- where, 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 22 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. 23 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 to learn. " 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 Miller. 24 "Yes; you can go in the cars," Winter- bonrne assented. " 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 get Randolph." " Your brother is "'^^ not interested in an- cient monuments?" „,,^ AVinterbourne inquired, smil- *^^^*^ ing. "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 you." " 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- clared. " Then we may arrange it. If mother will stay with Kandolph, I guess Eugenio will." " 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 friendliest accent. 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." 27 " 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 protested. "And you are staying in this hotel ?" she went on. "And you are really an American ?" 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 up" ac- 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 29 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 think where they get their taste." "But, my dear aunt, she is not, after all, a Co- manche savage." ^' She is a young lady," said Mrs. Cos- tello, " who has an intimacy with her mamma's courier." "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 me." " 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- lon." "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 Winterbourne, smiling. "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 his mustache. " You are too guilty, then !" Winterbourne continued to curl his mustache, meditatively. " You won't let the poor girl know you, then?" he asked at last. " 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 34 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- bourne inquired. 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, X-v> ^ 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," observed Winterbourne. '' 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 37 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 aunt." 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, sympathetically. 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?" Winterbourne asked. " 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 things." 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." 40 X "Oil no; come on!" urged Miss Daisy Miller. " 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. 42 " 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 that waiter." "I was telling Mr. Winterbourne," the young girl went on ; and to the young man's ear her tone might have indicated that she had been uttering his name all her life. " 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. 43 "And what occurred at Dover?" Win- terbourne asked. " He wouldn't go to bed at all. I guess he sat up all night in the public parlor. He wasn't in bed at twelve o'clock ; I know that." " It was half-past twelve," declared Mrs. Miller, with mild emphasis. "Does he sleep much during the day?" Winterbourne demanded. " I guess he doesn't sleep much," Daisy rejoined. " I wish he would !" said her mother. " It seems as if he couldn't." " I think he's real tiresome," Daisy pursued. 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 brother !" " Well, he is tiresome, mother," said Daisy, quite without the asperity of a retort, " 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 44 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." Mrs. Miller's wandering eyes attached them- A .. K M^b i ^^7-^?T 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 mother. " Yes, or in the boat," said Winter- bourne. " AVell, of course, I don't know," Mrs. Miller rejoined. " I have never been to that castle." " It is a pity you shouldn't go," said Winterbourne, beginning to feel 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 daughter. "We've been thinking ever so much about going," she pursued ; " but it seems as if we couldn't. Of course Daisy, she wants to go round. But there's a lady here — I don't know her name — she says she shouldn't think we'd want to go to see castles here ^ she should think we'd want to wait till we got to Italy. It seems as if there would be so many there," continued Mrs. Miller, with an air of in- creasing confidence. " Of course we only want to see the principal ones. We visited several in England," she presently added. 46 " 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. 4T "Mn Winterbonrne!" murmured Daisy. " Mademoiselle !" said the young man. " Don't you want to take me out in a boat?" " At present !" he asked. " Of course !" said Daisy. " Well, Annie Miller !" exclaimed her mother. " I beg you, madam, to let her go," said 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 think she'd want to," said her mother. " I should think sheVl rath- doors." " 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 starlight." "I don't believe it!" said Daisy. "Well !" ejaculated the elder lady again. " You haven't spoken to me for half an hour," her daughter went on. " I have been having some very pleas- ant conversation with your mother," said Winterbourne. " Well, I want you to take me out in a boat !" Daisy repeated. They had all stopped, and she had turned round and. was looking at Winterbourne. Her face wore a charming smile, her pretty eyes were gleaming, she was swinging her great fan about. No ; it's impossible to be prettier than that, thought Winter- bourne. " 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 49 langh. "I like a gentleman to be formal'" she declared. " 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- ing. " 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!" 50 Engenio bowed. " At eleven o'clock, mademoiselle V " 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 anything's proper." "I am at your service," said Winter- bourne. " 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 said Winter- ««"■■. ^^'i''^ A*"'",' fuss !" And the young girl began to laugh again. " Mr. Randolph has gone to bed !" the courier announced, frigidly. " Oh, Daisy ; now we can go !" said Mrs. Miller. Daisy turned away from Winterbourne, looking at him, smiling, and fanning her- self. " Good-night," she said ; " I hope you are disappointed, or disgusted, or something !" He looked at her, taking the hand she offered him. '' I am puzzled," he an- swered. "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 house. 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 52 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. Winterbourne's prefer- 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 journey." " 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 mixture !" 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 56 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- count. " 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 I 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 59 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 winter. "That's not a difficult promise to make," said Winterbourne. "My aunt has taken an apartment in Rome for the winter, and has already asked me to come and see her." "I don't want you to come for your aunt," said Daisy ; " I want you to come for me." And this was the only allusion that the young man was ever to hear her make to his invidious kinswoman. He declared that, at any rate, 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 Miller. " The Americans — of the courier ?" asked this lady. " Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, " the courier stayed at home." " She went with you all alone ?" '' All alone." Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her 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 23d." 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 61 "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, Madame 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 slowly advanced. "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- ing. "Well, I didn't believe it," said Miss Daisy. " I am much obliged to you," langlied the young man. '' You might have come to see me I" said Daisy. " I arrived only yesterday." " I don't believe that !" the young girl declared. Winterbourne turned with a protesting smile to her mother ; but this lady evaded his glance, and, seating herself, fixed her eyes upon her son. "We've got a bigger place than this," said Randolph. "It's all gold on the walls." Mrs. Miller turned uneasily in her chair. " I told you if I were to bring you, you would say something !" she murmured. "I told you 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 answered. " 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 something different." ''Ah, wait a little, and you will be- come very fond of it," said Winter- bourne. " I hate it w^orse and w^orse every day !" cried Randolph. " You are like the infant Hannibal," said Winterbourne. " Xo, 1 ain't !" Randolph declared, at a venture. "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/ of Richmond.^'' "It's the best place I've seen," the child repeated. " Only it was turned the wrong way." "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 indebtedness. "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 I've you ^- P||^[^^^^B^K«-^w^ » ^*^ 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- terbourne. " 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 — something !" " 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 them." " It's an intimate friend of mine — Mr. 72 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 then said. "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 lovely !" 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 Daisy. " She's going to walk with Mr. Giova- nelli," Randolph proclaimed. " I am going to the Pincio," said Daisy, smiling. " 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 hostess. 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- ian." " Well, he speaks English," said Mrs. Miller. '' 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- 75 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 the train." "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 — 7T 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 Winterbourne. 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 78 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- perious." " 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 1 do." " I think you have made a mistake," said Winterbourne. " You should some- times listen to a gentleman — the right one." 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 82 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 about it." "It's a pity to let the girl ruin herself!" " She is very innocent," said Winter- bourne. " 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 can try." rK 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 carriage-rugo "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 Mrs. AValker. " 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- pire." " You should walk with your mother, dear," cried the lady from Geneva, losing patience. "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 tell you." 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 carriage ?" 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 88 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- riages. "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- cordingly." " I suspect she meant no harm," Win- terbourne rejoined. " 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 short." " 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 91 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. Costello. He flattered himself on the following day that there was no smiling among the servants when he, at least, asked for Mrs. 92 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 96 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- 97 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- utes before. " 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 with him." "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," said Winterbourne. "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 too stiff." 100 " You say that too often," said Winter- bourne. 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 Daisy. " Though you may be flirting, Mr. Giovanelli is not; he means something else." "■ 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 affair." 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 smile. 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- menting manner. " I have offered you advice," Winter- bourne rejoined. " 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 with what 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. 103 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 touched. "That was very cruel," he said to Mrs. Walker. "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 105 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 ?" 106 " 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- ber's block." '' 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 intrigue." " I have heard a dozen people speak of it ; they say she is quite carried away by him." " They are certainly very intimate," said AVinterbourne. 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 108 <:■! y- % ^ "^r 7^H j^r"^'^- 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 i m^ "-< *m ^ 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. Costello. " 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 — • 113 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 Winterbourne. " 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 114 a'trrpii Vj'ii7S^-!iiui''-''-'il!i3 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 ^^ ^^ m W^''A^ 1 - s r^ ^ ^ r ■^ S '^'^^ * 4 'f0y P 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- nelli. 116 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- wonted brilliancy. " Well," said Daisy, " I should think you would be lonesome !" "Lonesome?" asked Winterbourne. " You are always going round by your- 117 self. Can't joxi get any one to walk with you?" " 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. "How disagreeably?" "Haven't you noticed anything?" Winterbourne asked. "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, smiling. "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. "W. \/ :^>j Sb, " 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- thing." " 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 simply. 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. 120 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 CD 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- 121 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 -4 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," 123 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, 124 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 brutally. Daisy, lovely in the flattering moon- light, looked at him a moment. Then — " All the evening," she answered, gently. ..." I never saw anything so pretty." "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. J '«!. If turning to Giovanelli, "that ■^ ^r V^ 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 splendid pills." " 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 forward rapidly. 126 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 asked . " 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 safe." 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 pavement. 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 128 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- ly ill. Winterbourne went often to ask for news of her, and once he saw Mrs. Miller, who, though deeply alarmed, was, rather 129 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 130 not engaged, I'm sure Tni glad to know it." 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 most innocent." Winterbourne looked at him, and pres- ently repeated his words, " And the most innocent ?" " 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 go." " That was no reason !" Winterbourne declared. The subtle Roman again dropped his eyes. " If she had lived, I should have 132 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 her?" "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 ?" 133 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 parts." Nevertheless, he went back to live at Geneva, whence there continue to come the most contradictory accounts of his motives of sojourn : a report that he is "studying" hard — an intimation that he is much interested in a very clever foreign lady.