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 person, presumably Eugenio, appeared.

A tall, handsome man, with superb whiskers, wearing a velvet
morning coat and a brilliant watch chain, approached Miss Miller,

looking sharply at her companion. "Oh, Eugenio!" said Miss
Miller with the friendliest accent.

Eugenio had looked at Winterbourne from head to foot;
he now bowed gravely" target="_blank" title="ad.庄重地，严肃地">gravely to the young lady. "I have the honor

to inform mademoiselle that luncheon is upon the table."
Miss Miller slowly rose. "See here, Eugenio!" she said;

"I'm going to that old castle, anyway."
"To the Chateau de Chillon, mademoiselle?" the courier inquired.

"Mademoiselle 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 offense 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.

"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.
"And a courier?" said Mrs. Costello. "Oh yes, I have observed them.

Seen them--heard them--and kept out of their way." Mrs. Costello was
a widow with a fortune; a person of much distinction, who frequently

intimated that, if she were not so dreadfully" target="_blank" title="ad.可怕地；糟透地">dreadfullyliable to sick headaches,
she would probably have left a deeper impress upon her time. She had a long,

pale face, a high nose, and a great deal of very striking white hair,
which she wore in large puffs and rouleaux over the top of her head.

She had two sons married in New York and another who was now in Europe.
This young man was amusing himself at Hamburg, 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 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.
"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."

"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 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 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

Chateau 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 have known her half an hour!" said Winterbourne, smiling.

"Dear me!" cried Mrs. Costello. "What a dreadful girl!"
Her nephew was silent for some moments. "You really think, then,"

he began earnestly, and with a desire for trustworthy information--"you
really think 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 meddle 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 mistake.
You are too innocent."

"My dear aunt, I am not so innocent," said Winterbourne,