Eugenio had looked at Winterbourne from head to foot; he now bowed gravely to the young lady. "I have the honor to inform mademoiselle that luncheon is upon the table." Miller, looking sharply at her companion. | aches, she would probably have left a "Oh, Eugenio!" said Miss Miller, with deeper impress upon her time. She had the friendliest accent. a long, pale face, a high nose, and a great deal of very striking white hair, which she wore in large puffs, and rouleaux over the top of her head. She had two sons married in New York, and another who was now in Europe. This young man was amusing himself at Hombourg, and though he was on his travels, was rarely perceived to visit any particular city at the moment selected by his mother for her own appear Miss Miller slowly rose. "See here, Eugenio," she said. "I'm going to that old castle, any way." "To the Château de Chillon, mademoiselle?" the courier inquired. "Mademoi-ance there. Her nephew, who had come selle has made arrangements?" he added, in a tone which struck Winterbourne 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 Winterbourne, 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 Winterbourne, offensively. The young man, at least, thought his manner of looking an offence to Miss Miller; it conveyed an imputation that she "picked up" acquaintances. "I shall have the honor of presenting to you a person who will tell you all about me," he said smiling, and referring to his aunt. 66 Oh, well, we'll go some day," said Miss Miller. And she gave him a smile and turned away. She put up her parasol and walked back to the inn beside Eugenio. Winterbourne stood looking after her; and as she moved away, drawing her muslin furbelows over the gravel, said to himself that she had the tournure of a princess. He had, however, engaged to do more than proved feasible, in promising to present his aunt, Mrs. Costello, to Miss Daisy Miller. As soon as the former lady had got better of her headache he waited upon her in her apartment; and, after the proper inquiries in regard to her health, he asked her if she had observed in the hotel an American family a mamma, a daughter, and a little boy. up to Vevey expressly to see her, was therefore more attentive than those who, as she said, were nearer to her. He had imbibed at Geneva the idea that one must always be attentive to one's aunt. Mrs. Costello had not seen him for many years, and she was greatly pleased with him, manifesting her approbation by initiating him into many of the secrets of that social sway which, as she gave him to understand, she exerted in the American capital. She admitted that she was very exclusive; but, if he were acquainted with New York, he would see that one had to be. And her picture of the minutely hierarchical constitution of the society of that city, which she presented to him in many different lights, was, to Winterbourne's imagination, almost oppressively striking. 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. 66 They are very common," Mrs. Costello declared. "They are the sort of Americans that one does one's duty by not not accepting." “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 well she dresses I can't think where they get their taste.” 66 But, my dear aunt, she is not, after all, a Comanche savage." "She is a young lady," said Mrs. Costello, "who has an intimacy with her mamma's courier." "An intimacy with the courier?" the | dle with little American girls that are unyoung 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 gentleman. He probably corresponds to the young lady's idea of a count. He sits with them in the garden, in the evening. I think he smokes." Winterbourne listened with interest to these disclosures; they helped him to make up his mind about Miss Daisy. Evidently she was rather wild. "Well," he said, "I am not a courier, and yet she was very charming to me." "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 bonnement ! And pray what did you say?" "I said I should take the liberty of introducing her to my admirable aunt." "I am much obliged to you." It was to guarantee my respectability," 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," Winterbourne went on. "But she is wonderfully pretty, and, in short, she is very nice. To prove that I believe it, I am going to take her to the Château de Chillon." "You two are going off there together? I should say it proved just the contrary. How long had you known her, may I ask, when this interesting project was formed? You haven't been twenty-four hours in the house." "I had known her half an hour," said Winterbourne, smiling. cultivated, as you call them. You have lived too long out of the country. You will be sure to make some great mistake. You are too innocent." "My dear aunt, I am not so innocent," said Winterbourne, smiling and curling his moustache. "You are too guilty, then." Winterbourne continued to curl his moustache 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 Château de Chillon with you? "I think that she fully intends it." "Then, my dear Frederick," said Mrs. Costello, "I must decline the honor of her acquaintance. I am an old woman, but I am not too old- thank Heaven to be shocked!" "But don't they all do these thingsthe young girls in America?" Winterbourne 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 remembered to have heard that his pretty cousins in New York were "tremendous flirts." If, therefore, Miss Daisy Miller exceeded the liberal margin allowed to these young ladies, it was probable that anything might be expected of her. Winterbourne was impatient to see her again, and he was vexed with himself that, by instinct, he should not appreciate her justly. Though he was impatient to see her, he hardly knew what he should say to her about his aunt's refusal to become acquainted with her; but he discovered, promptly enough, that with Miss Daisy Miller there was no great need of walking on tiptoe. He found her that evening in the garden, wandering about in the warm starlight, like an indolent sylph, and swinging to and fro the largest fan he had ever be "Dear me !" cried Mrs. Costello. held. It was ten o'clock. He had dined "What a dreadful girl!" with his aunt, had been sitting with her Her nephew was silent for some mo- since dinner, and had just taken leave of ments. "You really think, then," he be- her till the morrow. Miss Daisy Miller gan earnestly, and with a desire for trust-seemed very glad to see him; she declared worthy information-"you really think it was the longest evening she had ever that "But he paused again." "Think what, sir?" 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 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 It's - not three hours. She says she doesn't Winterbourne fancied there was a tremknow how she lives. She's dreadfully or in her voice; he was touched, shocked, nervous. I guess she sleeps more than mortified by it. "My dear young lady," she thinks. She's gone somewhere after he protested, "she knows no one. Randolph; she wants to try to get him to her wretched health." go to bed. He doesn't like to go to bed." "Let us hope she will persuade him," observed Winterbourne. 66 The young girl walked on a few steps, laughing still. "You needn't be afraid," she repeated. "Why should she want to "She will talk to him all she can; but know me?" then she paused again; she he doesn't like her to talk to him," said was close to the parapet of the garden, Miss Daisy, opening her fan. "She's and in front of her was the starlit lake. going to try to get Eugenio to talk to him. There was a vague sheen upon its surface, But he isn't afraid of Eugenio. Eugenio's and in the distance were dimly-seen mouna splendid courier, but he can't make much tain forms. Daisy Miller looked out upon impression on Randolph. I don't be the mysterious prospect, and then she lieve he'll go to bed before eleven." It gave another little laugh. "Gracious! appeared that Randolph's vigil was in fact she is exclusive!" she said. Wintertriumphantly prolonged, for Winterbourne bourne wondered whether she was seristrolled about with the young girl for ously wounded, and for a moment almost some time without meeting her mother. wished that her sense of injury might be "I have been looking round for that lady such as to make it becoming in him to you want to introduce me to," his com- attempt to reassure and comfort her. He panion resumed. "She's your aunt." had a pleasant sense that she would be Then, on Winterbourne's admitting the very approachable for consolatory purfact, and expressing some curiosity as to poses. He felt then, for the instant, quite how she had learned it, she said she had ready to sacrifice his aunt, conversationheard all about Mrs. Costello from the ally; to admit that she was a proud, rude chambermaid. She was very quiet and woman, and to declare that they needn't very comme il faut; she wore white puffs; mind her. But before he had time to she spoke to no one, and she never dined commit himself to this perilous mixture of at the table d'hôte. Every two days she gallantry and impiety, the young lady, rehad a headache. "I think that's a lovely suming her walk, gave an exclamation in description, headache and all!" said Miss quite another tone. "Well; here's mothDaisy, chattering along in her thin, gay er! I guess she hasn't got Randolph to go voice. "I want to know her ever so to bed.' The figure of a lady appeared, much. I know just what your aunt would at a distance, very indistinct in the darkbe; I know I should like her. She would ness, and advancing with a slow and wabe very exclusive. I like a lady to be ex-vering movement. Suddenly it seemed to clusive; I'm dying to be exclusive myself. Well, we are exclusive, mother and I. We don't speak to every one or they don't speak to us. I suppose it's about the same thing. Any way, I shall be ever so glad to know your aunt." Winterbourne was embarrassed. "She 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? needn't be afraid. I'm not afraid!" she gave a little laugh. You And pause. "Are you sure it is your mother? Can you distinguish her in this thick dusk?" Winterbourne asked. "Well!" cried Miss Daisy Miller, with a laugh, "I guess I know my own mother. And when she has got on my shawl, too! She is always wearing my things. The lady in question, ceasing to advance, hovered vaguely about the spot 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." 66 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." "Oh, 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 it's for! But mother doesn't like any of my gentlemen friends. She's right down timid. She always makes a fuss if I introduce a gentleman. But I do introduce them almost always. If I didn't introduce my gentlemen friends to mother," the young girl added, in her little soft, flat monotone, "I shouldn't think I was natural." "To introduce me," said Winterbourne, "you must know my name." And he proceeded to pronounce it. "Oh, dear; I can't say all that!" said his companion with a laugh. But by this time they had come up to Mrs. Miller, who, as they drew near, walked to the parapet of the garden and leaned upon it, looking intently at the lake, and turning her back to them. "Mother!" said the young girl, in a tone of decision. Upon this the elder lady turned round. “Mr. Winterbourne," said Miss Daisy Miller, introducing the young man very frankly and prettily. "Common" she was, as Mrs. Costello had pronounced her; yet it was a wonder to Winterbourne that, with her commonness, she had a singularly delicate grace. Her mother was a small, spare, light person, with a wandering eye, a very exiguous nose, and a large forehead, decorated with a certain amount of thin, muchfrizzled hair. Like her daughter, Mrs. Miller was dressed with extreme elegance; she had enormous diamonds in her ears. So far as Winterbourne could observe, she gave him no greeting-she certainly was not looking at him. Daisy was near her, pulling her shawl straight. "What are you doing, poking round here?" this young lady inquired; but by no means with that harshness of accent which her choice of words may imply. "I don't know," said her mother, turning towards the lake again. "I shouldn't think you'd want that shawl!" Daisy exclaimed. "Well I do!" her mother answered, with a little laugh. "Did you get Randolph 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 wait 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!" 66 Anyhow, it isn't so bad as it was at Dover," said Daisy Miller. "And what occurred at Dover?" Winterbourne 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 pur sued. 66 Then, for some moments, there was silence. Well, Daisy Miller," said the elder lady presently, "I shouldn't think you'd want to talk against your own brother." "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 the young girl. "I'm going there with Mr. Winterbourne.” To this announcement, very placidly made, Daisy's mamma offered no response. Winterbourne took for granted that she deeply disapproved of the projected excursion; but he said to himself that she was a simple, easily-managed person, and that a few deferential protestations would take the edge from her displeasure. "Yes," he began; "your daughter has kindly allowed me the honor of being her guide." Mrs. Miller's wandering eyes attached themselves, with a sort of appealing air, to Daisy, who, however, strolled a few steps farther, gently humming to herself. presume you will go in the cars," said her mother. "I "Yes; or in the boat," said Winterbourne. 66 Well, of course, I don't know," Mrs. Miller rejoined. "I have never been to that castle." "It is a pity you shouldn't go," said Winterbourne, beginning to feel reassured as to her opposition. And yet he was quite 66 66 "I'm sure Mr. Winterbourne wants to take me," Daisy declared. "He's so awfully devoted!" "I will row you over to Chillon, in the starlight." "I don't believe it!" said Daisy. "Well!" ejaculated the elder lady again. "You haven't spoken to me for half an hour," her daughter went on. "I have been having some very pleasant conversation with your mother," said Winterbourne. "Well; I want you to take me out in a boat!" Daisy repeated. They had all stopped, and she had turned round and was looking at Winterbourne. Her face wore a charming smile, her pretty eyes were gleaming, she was swinging her great fan about. No; it's impossible to be pret"tier than that, thought Winterbourne. Ah, yes! in England there are beautiful castles," said Winterbourne. "But Chillon, here, is very well worth seeing." Well, if Daisy feels up to it. said Mrs. Miller, in a tone impregnated with a sense of the magnitude of the enterprise. "It seems as if there was nothing she wouldn't undertake." "Oh, I think she'll enjoy it!" Winterbourne declared. And he desired more and more to make it a certainty that he was to have the privilege of a tête-à-tête with the young lady, who was still strolling along in front of them, softly vocalizing. "You are not disposed, madam," he inquired, "to undertake it yourself?" Daisy's mother looked at him, an instant, askance, and then walked forward in silence. Then "I guess she had better go alone," she said simply. Winterbourne observed to himself that this was a very different type of maternity from that of the vigilant matrons who massed themselves in the forefront of social intercourse in the dark old city at the other end of the lake. But his meditations were interrupted by hearing his name very distinctly pronounced by Mrs. Miller's unprotected daughter. "Mr. Winterbourne !" murmured Daisy. "Mademoiselle!" said the young man. "Don't you want to take me out in a boat? "At present?" he asked. "Of course!" said Daisy. 66 'Well, Annie Miller!" exclaimed her mother. "I beg you, madam, to let her go," said Winterbourne ardently; for he had never yet enjoyed the sensation of guiding through the summer starlight a skiff freighted with a fresh and beautifu! young girl. "I shouldn't think she'd want to," said her mother. "I should think she'd rather go indoors." "There are half-a-dozen boats moored at that landing-place," he said, pointing to certain steps which descended from the garden to the lake. "If you will do me the honor to accept my arm, we will go and select one of them." Daisy stood there smiling; she threw back her head and gave a little, light laugh. "I like a gentleman to be formal!" she declared. "I assure you it's a formal offer." "I was bound I would make you say something," Daisy went on. "You see it's not very difficult," said Winterbourne. "But I am afraid you are chaffing me." "I think not, sir," remarked Mrs. Miller, very gently. "Do, then, let me give you a row," he said to the young girl. "It's quite lovely, the way you say that!" cried Daisy. "It will be still more lovely to do it." "Yes, it would be lovely!" said Daisy. But she made no movement to accompany him; she only stood there laughing. 66 "I should think you had better find out what time it is," interposed her mother. "It is eleven o'clock, madam," said a voice, with a foreign accent, out of the neighboring darkness; and Winterbourne, turning, perceived the florid personage who was in attendance upon the two ladies. He had apparently just approached. "Oh, Eugenio," said Daisy, "I am going out in a boat!" Eugenio bowed. "At eleven o'clock, mademoiselle?" "I am going with Mr. Winterbourne. This very minute." "Do tell her she can't," said Mrs. Miller to the courier. |