章节正文
Mrs. Walker's victoria. "That was not clever of you," he said candidly,
while the vehicle mingled again with the throng of carriages.
"In such a case," his companion answered, "I don't wish to be clever;
I wish to be EARNEST!"
"Well, your earnestness has only offended her and put her off."
"It has happened very well," said Mrs. Walker. "If she is so perfectly
determined to compromise herself, the sooner one knows it the better;
one can act accordingly."
"I suspect she meant no harm," Winterbourne rejoined.
"So I thought a month ago. But she has been going too far."
"What has she been doing?"
"Everything that is not done here. Flirting with any man she could pick up;
sitting in corners with mysterious Italians; dancing all the evening
with the same partners; receiving visits at eleven o'clock at night.
Her mother goes away when visitors come."
"But her brother," said Winterbourne, laughing, "sits up till midnight."
"He must be edified by what he sees. I'm told that at their hotel
everyone is talking about her, and that a smile goes round among
all the servants when a gentleman comes and asks for Miss Miller."
"The servants be hanged!" said Winterbourne 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 Vevey?"
"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 carriage.
"I wished to beg you to cease your relations with Miss Miller--
not to flirt with her--to give her no further opportunity
to expose herself--to let her alone, in short."
"I'm afraid I can't do that," said Winterbourne.
"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 pursued.
"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 several seats.
One of the seats at a distance was occupied by a gentleman
and a lady, toward whom Mrs. Walker gave a toss of her head.
At the same moment these persons rose and walked toward
the parapet. Winterbourne had asked the coachman to stop;
he now descended from the carriage. His companion looked
at him a moment in silence; then, while he raised his hat,
she drove majestically away. Winterbourne stood there;
he had turned his eyes toward Daisy and her cavalier.
They evidently saw no one; they were too deeply occupied
with each other. When they reached the low garden wall,
they stood a moment looking off at the great flat-topped
pine clusters of the Villa Borghese; then Giovanelli
seated himself, familiarly, upon the broad ledge of the wall.
The western sun in the opposite sky sent out a brilliant
shaft through a couple of cloud bars, whereupon Daisy's
companion took her parasol out of her hands and opened it.
She came a little nearer, and he held the parasol over her;
then, still holding it, he let it rest upon her shoulder,
so that both of their heads were hidden from Winterbourne.
This young man lingered a moment, then he began to walk.
But he walked--not toward the couple with the parasol;
toward the residence of his aunt, Mrs. Costello.
He flattered himself on the following day that there was no smiling
among the servants when he, at least, asked for Mrs. Miller at
her hotel. This lady and her daughter, however, were not at home;
and on the next day after, repeating his visit, Winterbourne again
had the misfortune not to find them. Mrs. Walker's party took place
on the evening of the third day, and, in spite of the frigidity of his
last interview with the hostess, Winterbourne was among the guests.
Mrs. Walker was one of those American ladies who, while residing abroad,
make a point, in their own phrase, of studying European society,
and she had on this occasion collected several specimens of her
diversely born fellow mortals to serve, as it were, as textbooks.
When Winterbourne arrived, Daisy Miller was not there, but in a few
moments he saw her mother come in alone, very shyly and ruefully.
Mrs. Miller's hair above her exposed-looking temples was more frizzled
than ever. As she approached Mrs. Walker, Winterbourne also drew near.
"You see, I've come all alone," said poor Mrs. Miller.
"I'm so frightened; I don't know what to do. It's the first time
I've ever been to a party alone, especially in this country.
I wanted to bring Randolph or Eugenio, or someone, but Daisy just
pushed me off by myself. I ain't used to going round alone."
"And does not your daughter intend to favor us with her society?"
demanded Mrs. Walker impressively.
"Well, Daisy's all dressed," said Mrs. Miller with that accent of
the dispassionate, if not of the philosophic, historian with which she
always recorded the current incidents of her daughter's career.
"She got dressed on purpose before dinner. But she's got a friend
of hers there; that gentleman--the Italian--that she wanted to bring.
They've got going at the piano; it seems as if they couldn't leave off.
Mr. Giovanelli sings splendidly. But I guess they'll come before very long,"
concluded Mrs. Miller hopefully.
"I'm sorry she should come in that way," said Mrs. Walker.
"Well, I told her that there was no use in her getting dressed before
dinner if she was going to wait three hours," responded Daisy's mamma.
"I didn't see the use of her putting on such a dress as that to sit
round with Mr. Giovanelli."
"This is most horrible!" said Mrs. Walker, turning away and
addressing herself to Winterbourne. "Elle s'affiche. It's
her revenge for my having ventured to remonstrate with her.
When she comes, I shall not speak to her."
Daisy came after eleven o'clock; but she was not,
on such an occasion, a young lady to wait to be spoken to.
She rustled forward in radiantloveliness, smiling and chattering,
carrying a large bouquet, and attended by Mr. Giovanelli.
Everyone stopped talking and turned and looked at her.
She came straight to Mrs. Walker. "I'm afraid you thought
I never was coming, so I sent mother off to tell you.
I wanted to make Mr. Giovanelli practice some things before he came;
you know he sings beautifully, and I want you to ask him to sing.
This is Mr. Giovanelli; you know I introduced him to you;
he's got the most lovely voice, and he knows the most charming
set of songs. I made him go over them this evening on purpose;
we had the greatest time at the hotel." Of all this Daisy delivered
herself with the sweetest, brightest audibleness, looking now
at her hostess and now round the room, while she gave a series
of little pats, round her shoulders, to the edges of her dress.
"Is there anyone I know?" she asked.
"I think every one knows you!" said Mrs. Walker pregnantly, and she
gave a very cursory greeting to Mr. Giovanelli. This gentleman bore
himself gallantly. He smiled and bowed and showed his white teeth;
he curled his mustaches and rolled his eyes and performed all
the proper functions of a handsome Italian at an evening party.
He sang very prettily half a dozen songs, though Mrs. Walker afterward
declared that she had been quite unable to find out who asked him.
It was apparently not Daisy who had given him his orders.
Daisy sat at a distance from the piano, and though she had publicly,
as it were, professed a high admiration for his singing, talked,
not inaudibly, while it was going on.
"It's a pity these rooms are so small; we can't dance," she said
to Winterbourne, as if she had seen him five minutes before.
"I am not sorry we can't dance," Winterbourne answered;
"I don't dance."
"Of course you don't dance; you're too stiff," said Miss Daisy.
"I hope you enjoyed your drive with Mrs. Walker!"
"No. I didn't enjoy it; I preferred walking with you."
"We paired off: that was much better," said Daisy.
"But did you ever hear anything so cool as Mrs. Walker's
wanting me to get into her carriage and drop poor
Mr. Giovanelli, and under the pretext that it was proper?
People have different ideas! It would have been most unkind;
he had been talking about that walk for ten days."
"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 THEM."
"I 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 would flirt with me,
and me only," said Winterbourne.
"Ah! thank you--thank you very much; you are the last man I should
think of flirting with. As I have had the pleasure of informing you,
you are too stiff."
"You say that too often," said Winterbourne.
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 thing here."
"I thought they understood nothing else!" exclaimed Daisy.
"Not in young unmarried women."
"It seems to me much more proper in young unmarried women than in old
married 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 expectation of shocking her by this ejaculation;
but she immediately got up, blushing visibly, and leaving
him to exclaim mentally that little American flirts were
the queerest creatures in the world. "Mr. Giovanelli,
at least," she said, giving her interlocutor a single glance,
"never says such very disagreeable things to me."
Winterbourne was bewildered; he stood, staring. Mr. Giovanelli
had finished singing. He left the piano and came over to Daisy.
"Won't you come into the other room and have some tea?" he asked,
bending before her with his ornamental smile.
Daisy turned to Winterbourne, beginning to smile again. He was still
while the vehicle mingled again with the throng of carriages.
"In such a case," his companion answered, "I don't wish to be clever;
I wish to be EARNEST!"
"Well, your earnestness has only offended her and put her off."
"It has happened very well," said Mrs. Walker. "If she is so perfectly
determined to compromise herself, the sooner one knows it the better;
one can act accordingly."
"I suspect she meant no harm," Winterbourne rejoined.
"So I thought a month ago. But she has been going too far."
"What has she been doing?"
"Everything that is not done here. Flirting with any man she could pick up;
sitting in corners with mysterious Italians; dancing all the evening
with the same partners; receiving visits at eleven o'clock at night.
Her mother goes away when visitors come."
"But her brother," said Winterbourne, laughing, "sits up till midnight."
"He must be edified by what he sees. I'm told that at their hotel
everyone is talking about her, and that a smile goes round among
all the servants when a gentleman comes and asks for Miss Miller."
"The servants be hanged!" said Winterbourne 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 Vevey?"
"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 carriage.
"I wished to beg you to cease your relations with Miss Miller--
not to flirt with her--to give her no further opportunity
to expose herself--to let her alone, in short."
"I'm afraid I can't do that," said Winterbourne.
"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 pursued.
"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 several seats.
One of the seats at a distance was occupied by a gentleman
and a lady, toward whom Mrs. Walker gave a toss of her head.
At the same moment these persons rose and walked toward
the parapet. Winterbourne had asked the coachman to stop;
he now descended from the carriage. His companion looked
at him a moment in silence; then, while he raised his hat,
she drove majestically away. Winterbourne stood there;
he had turned his eyes toward Daisy and her cavalier.
They evidently saw no one; they were too deeply occupied
with each other. When they reached the low garden wall,
they stood a moment looking off at the great flat-topped
pine clusters of the Villa Borghese; then Giovanelli
seated himself, familiarly, upon the broad ledge of the wall.
The western sun in the opposite sky sent out a brilliant
shaft through a couple of cloud bars, whereupon Daisy's
companion took her parasol out of her hands and opened it.
She came a little nearer, and he held the parasol over her;
then, still holding it, he let it rest upon her shoulder,
so that both of their heads were hidden from Winterbourne.
This young man lingered a moment, then he began to walk.
But he walked--not toward the couple with the parasol;
toward the residence of his aunt, Mrs. Costello.
He flattered himself on the following day that there was no smiling
among the servants when he, at least, asked for Mrs. Miller at
her hotel. This lady and her daughter, however, were not at home;
and on the next day after, repeating his visit, Winterbourne again
had the misfortune not to find them. Mrs. Walker's party took place
on the evening of the third day, and, in spite of the frigidity of his
last interview with the hostess, Winterbourne was among the guests.
Mrs. Walker was one of those American ladies who, while residing abroad,
make a point, in their own phrase, of studying European society,
and she had on this occasion collected several specimens of her
diversely born fellow mortals to serve, as it were, as textbooks.
When Winterbourne arrived, Daisy Miller was not there, but in a few
moments he saw her mother come in alone, very shyly and ruefully.
Mrs. Miller's hair above her exposed-looking temples was more frizzled
than ever. As she approached Mrs. Walker, Winterbourne also drew near.
"You see, I've come all alone," said poor Mrs. Miller.
"I'm so frightened; I don't know what to do. It's the first time
I've ever been to a party alone, especially in this country.
I wanted to bring Randolph or Eugenio, or someone, but Daisy just
pushed me off by myself. I ain't used to going round alone."
"And does not your daughter intend to favor us with her society?"
demanded Mrs. Walker impressively.
"Well, Daisy's all dressed," said Mrs. Miller with that accent of
the dispassionate, if not of the philosophic, historian with which she
always recorded the current incidents of her daughter's career.
"She got dressed on purpose before dinner. But she's got a friend
of hers there; that gentleman--the Italian--that she wanted to bring.
They've got going at the piano; it seems as if they couldn't leave off.
Mr. Giovanelli sings splendidly. But I guess they'll come before very long,"
concluded Mrs. Miller hopefully.
"I'm sorry she should come in that way," said Mrs. Walker.
"Well, I told her that there was no use in her getting dressed before
dinner if she was going to wait three hours," responded Daisy's mamma.
"I didn't see the use of her putting on such a dress as that to sit
round with Mr. Giovanelli."
"This is most horrible!" said Mrs. Walker, turning away and
addressing herself to Winterbourne. "Elle s'affiche. It's
her revenge for my having ventured to remonstrate with her.
When she comes, I shall not speak to her."
Daisy came after eleven o'clock; but she was not,
on such an occasion, a young lady to wait to be spoken to.
She rustled forward in radiantloveliness, smiling and chattering,
carrying a large bouquet, and attended by Mr. Giovanelli.
Everyone stopped talking and turned and looked at her.
She came straight to Mrs. Walker. "I'm afraid you thought
I never was coming, so I sent mother off to tell you.
I wanted to make Mr. Giovanelli practice some things before he came;
you know he sings beautifully, and I want you to ask him to sing.
This is Mr. Giovanelli; you know I introduced him to you;
he's got the most lovely voice, and he knows the most charming
set of songs. I made him go over them this evening on purpose;
we had the greatest time at the hotel." Of all this Daisy delivered
herself with the sweetest, brightest audibleness, looking now
at her hostess and now round the room, while she gave a series
of little pats, round her shoulders, to the edges of her dress.
"Is there anyone I know?" she asked.
"I think every one knows you!" said Mrs. Walker pregnantly, and she
gave a very cursory greeting to Mr. Giovanelli. This gentleman bore
himself gallantly. He smiled and bowed and showed his white teeth;
he curled his mustaches and rolled his eyes and performed all
the proper functions of a handsome Italian at an evening party.
He sang very prettily half a dozen songs, though Mrs. Walker afterward
declared that she had been quite unable to find out who asked him.
It was apparently not Daisy who had given him his orders.
Daisy sat at a distance from the piano, and though she had publicly,
as it were, professed a high admiration for his singing, talked,
not inaudibly, while it was going on.
"It's a pity these rooms are so small; we can't dance," she said
to Winterbourne, as if she had seen him five minutes before.
"I am not sorry we can't dance," Winterbourne answered;
"I don't dance."
"Of course you don't dance; you're too stiff," said Miss Daisy.
"I hope you enjoyed your drive with Mrs. Walker!"
"No. I didn't enjoy it; I preferred walking with you."
"We paired off: that was much better," said Daisy.
"But did you ever hear anything so cool as Mrs. Walker's
wanting me to get into her carriage and drop poor
Mr. Giovanelli, and under the pretext that it was proper?
People have different ideas! It would have been most unkind;
he had been talking about that walk for ten days."
"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 THEM."
"I 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 would flirt with me,
and me only," said Winterbourne.
"Ah! thank you--thank you very much; you are the last man I should
think of flirting with. As I have had the pleasure of informing you,
you are too stiff."
"You say that too often," said Winterbourne.
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 thing here."
"I thought they understood nothing else!" exclaimed Daisy.
"Not in young unmarried women."
"It seems to me much more proper in young unmarried women than in old
married 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 expectation of shocking her by this ejaculation;
but she immediately got up, blushing visibly, and leaving
him to exclaim mentally that little American flirts were
the queerest creatures in the world. "Mr. Giovanelli,
at least," she said, giving her interlocutor a single glance,
"never says such very disagreeable things to me."
Winterbourne was bewildered; he stood, staring. Mr. Giovanelli
had finished singing. He left the piano and came over to Daisy.
"Won't you come into the other room and have some tea?" he asked,
bending before her with his ornamental smile.
Daisy turned to Winterbourne, beginning to smile again. He was still
- companion [kəm´pæniən]
n.同伴；同事；伴侣 (初中英语单词) - suspect [´sʌspekt, sə´spekt] v.怀疑；觉得 n.嫌疑犯 (初中英语单词)
- mysterious [mi´stiəriəs] a.神秘的；难以理解的 (初中英语单词)
- presently [´prezəntli] ad.不久；目前 (初中英语单词)
- expose [ik´spəuz] vt.揭露，暴露；陈列 (初中英语单词)
- carriage [´kæridʒ] n.马车；客车；货运 (初中英语单词)
- evidently [´evidəntli] ad.明显地 (初中英语单词)
- western [´westən] a.西的；西方的 (初中英语单词)
- hidden [´hid(ə)n] hide 的过去分词 (初中英语单词)
- residence [´rezidəns] n.居住(期间)；住宅 (初中英语单词)
- interview [´intəvju:] n.&vt.接见；会见；交谈 (初中英语单词)
- phrase [freiz] n.短语；词组；措词 (初中英语单词)
- european [juərə´pi:ən] a.欧洲的 n.欧洲人 (初中英语单词)
- accent [´æksənt, æk´sent] n.重音；口音 vt.重读 (初中英语单词)
- revenge [ri´vendʒ] vt.报复 n.报仇；报复 (初中英语单词)
- spoken [´spəukən] speak的过去分词 (初中英语单词)
- italian [i´tæliən] a.意大利 n.意大利人 (初中英语单词)
- unable [ʌn´eibəl] a.不能的；无能为力的 (初中英语单词)
- admiration [,ædmə´reiʃən] n.赞赏，钦佩 (初中英语单词)
- dreadfully [dredfuli] ad.可怕地；糟透地 (初中英语单词)
- fearful [´fiəfəl] a.可怕的；担心的 (初中英语单词)
- purely [´pjuəli] ad.仅仅；简单地 (初中英语单词)
- intimate [´intimit] a.亲密的 n.知己 (初中英语单词)
- frankly [´fræŋkli] ad.直率地；慷慨地 (初中英语单词)
- beginning [bi´giniŋ] n.开始，开端；起源 (初中英语单词)
- throng [θrɔŋ] n.群众 v.拥挤；群集 (高中英语单词)
- compromise [´kɔmprəmaiz] n.妥协，和解 (高中英语单词)
- misfortune [mis´fɔ:tʃən] n.不幸；灾祸 (高中英语单词)
- hostess [´həustis] n.女主人；旅馆女老板 (高中英语单词)
- historian [his´tɔ:riən] n.历史学家 (高中英语单词)
- radiant [´reidiənt] a.发光的 n.光源(体) (高中英语单词)
- apparently [ə´pærəntli] ad.显然，表面上地 (高中英语单词)
- frightful [´fraitfəl] a.可怕的；不愉快的 (高中英语单词)
- expectation [,ekspek´teiʃən] n.期待(望)；预期 (高中英语单词)
- disagreeable [,disə´gri:əbl] a.令人不悦的 (高中英语单词)
- vehicle [´vi:ikəl] n.车辆；媒介物 (英语四级单词)
- rejoin [ri:´dʒɔin] v.再参加；重聚；回答 (英语四级单词)
- coachman [´kəutʃmən] n.赶马车人 (英语四级单词)
- whereupon [,weərə´pɔn] ad.在什么上面；因此 (英语四级单词)
- miller [´milə] n.磨坊主；铣床(工) (英语四级单词)
- loveliness [´lʌvlinis] n.美丽，可爱 (英语四级单词)
- bouquet [bu:´kei] n.花束；恭维话 (英语四级单词)
- beautifully [´bju:tifəli] ad.美丽地；优美地 (英语四级单词)
- delighted [di´laitid] a.高兴的；喜欢的 (英语四级单词)
- unmarried [,ʌn´mærid] a.未婚的，独身的 (英语四级单词)
- ornamental [,ɔ:nə´mentəl] a.装饰的 n.装饰品 (英语四级单词)
- earnestness [´ə:nistnis] n.认真，急切；坚定 (英语六级单词)
- holding [´həuldiŋ] n.保持，固定，存储 (英语六级单词)
- splendidly [´splendidli] ad.光彩夺目地；辉煌地 (英语六级单词)
- remonstrate [ri´mɔnstreit, ´remənstreit] v.规劝；抗议；告诫 (英语六级单词)
- preaching [´pri:tʃiŋ] n.说教 a.说教的 (英语六级单词)
- shocking [´ʃɔkiŋ] a.令人震惊的；可怕的 (英语六级单词)
文章标签:名著
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