How did Miss Daisy Miller know that there was a charmer in Geneva?
Winterbourne, who denied the
existence of such a person,
was quite
unable to discover, and he was divided between amazement
at the
rapidity of her induction and
amusement at the frankness
of her persiflage. She seemed to him, in all this,
an
extraordinarymixture of
innocence and crudity. "Does she never
allow you more than three days at a time?" asked Daisy ironically.
"Doesn't she give you a
vacation in summer? There's no one so hard
worked but they can get leave to go off somewhere at this season.
I suppose, if you stay another day, she'll come after you in the boat.
Do wait over till Friday, and I will go down to the
landing to see
her arrive!" Winterbourne began to think he had been wrong to feel
disappointed in the
temper in which the young lady had embarked.
If he had missed the personal
accent, the personal
accent was
now making its appearance. It sounded very
distinctly, at last,
in her telling him she would stop "teasing" him if he would promise
her
solemnly to come down to Rome in the winter.
"That's not a difficult promise to make," said Winterbourne.
"My aunt has taken an
apartment in Rome for the winter and has
already asked me to come and see her."
"I don't want you to come for your aunt," said Daisy; "I want you
to come for me." And this was the only
allusion that the young
man was ever to hear her make to his invidious kinswoman.
He declared that, at any rate, he would certainly come.
After this Daisy stopped teasing. Winterbourne took a
carriage,
and they drove back to Vevey in the dusk; the young girl
was very quiet.
In the evening Winterbourne mentioned to Mrs. Costello that he had spent
the afternoon at Chillon with Miss Daisy Miller.
"The Americans--of the
courier?" asked this lady.
"Ah, happily," said Winterbourne, "the
courier stayed at home."
"She went with you all alone?"
"All alone."
Mrs. Costello sniffed a little at her smelling bottle.
"And that," she exclaimed, "is the young person whom you wanted
me to know!"
PART II
Winterbourne, who had returned to Geneva the day after his
excursion to Chillon, went to Rome toward the end of January.
His aunt had been established there for several weeks,
and he had received a couple of letters from her.
"Those people you were so
devoted to last summer at Vevey
have turned up here,
courier and all," she wrote.
"They seem to have made several
acquaintances, but the
couriercontinues to be the most intime. The young lady, however,
is also very
intimate with some third-rate Italians,
with whom she rackets about in a way that makes much talk.
Bring me that pretty novel of Cherbuliez's--Paule Mere--
and don't come later than the 23rd."
In the natural course of events, Winterbourne, on arriving in Rome,
would
presently have ascertained Mrs. Miller's address at the American
banker's and have gone to pay his compliments to Miss Daisy.
"After what happened at Vevey, I think I may certainly call upon them,"
he said to Mrs. Costello.
"If, after what happens--at Vevey and everywhere--you desire to keep up
the
acquaintance, you are very
welcome. Of course a man may know everyone.
Men are
welcome to the privilege!"
"Pray what is it that happens--here, for instance?" Winterbourne demanded.
"The girl goes about alone with her foreigners. As to what
happens further, you must apply
elsewhere for information.
She has picked up half a dozen of the regular Roman
fortune hunters, and she takes them about to people's houses.
When she comes to a party she brings with her a gentleman
with a good deal of manner and a wonderful mustache."
"And where is the mother?"
"I haven't the least idea. They are very
dreadful people."
Winterbourne meditated a moment. "They are very ignorant--
very
innocent only. Depend upon it they are not bad."
"They are
hopelesslyvulgar," said Mrs. Costello. "Whether or no being
hopelesslyvulgar is being 'bad' is a question for the metaphysicians.
They are bad enough to
dislike, at any rate; and for this short life
that is quite enough."