Tell me your name, my boy, he said.
Randolph C. Miller, said the boy, sharply. And Ill tell you her name; and he levelled his alpenstock at his sister.
You had better wait till you are asked! 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 isnt her real name; that isnt her name on her cards.
Its a pity you havent 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 Winterbourne.
But on this point Randolph seemed perfectly indifferent; he continued to supply information
with regard to his own family. My fathers name is Ezra B. Miller, he announced. My father aint in Europe; my fathers in a better place than Europe.
Winterbourne imagined for a moment that this was the manner in which the child had been taught to intimate that Mr. Miller had been removed to the sphere of celestial rewards. But Randolph immediately added, My fathers in Schenectady. Hes got a big business. My fathers rich, you bet.
Well! ejaculated Miss Miller, lowering her parasol and looking at the embroidered border. Winterbourne presently released the child, who departed, dragging his alpenstock along the path. He doesnt like Europe, said the young girl. He wants to go back.
To Schenectady, you mean?
Yes; he wants to go right home. He hasnt got any boys here. There is one boy here, but he always goes round with a teacher; they wont let him play.
And your brother hasnt 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 round with us. But Randolph said he didnt want a teacher travelling round with us. He said he wouldnt have lessons when 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 was Miss Featherstone; perhaps you know her. She wanted to know why I didnt give Randolph lessons give him instruction, she called it. I guess he could give me more instruction than I could give him. Hes very smart.
Yes, said Winterbourne; he seems very smart.
Mothers 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 shes going to find some school. He ought to learn some more. Hes only nine. Hes going to college. And in this way Miss Miller continued to converse 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 with her pretty eyes now resting upon those of Winterbourne, now wandering 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 chattered. She was 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 decidedly sociable. She gave Winterbourne a history of her movements and intentions, and those of her mother and brother, in Europe, and enumerated, in particular, the various hotels at which they had stopped. That English lady in the cars, she said Miss Featherstone asked me if we didnt 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 its nothing but hotels. But Miss Miller did not make this remark with a querulous accent; she appeared to be in the best humour with everything. She declared that the hotels were very good, when once you got used to their ways, and that Europe was perfectly sweet. She was not disappointed not a bit. Perhaps it was because she had heard so much about it before. She had ever so many intimate friends that had been there ever so many times. And then she had had ever so many dresses and things 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 examining this analogy; it always made me wish I was here. But I neednt 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 dont like, she proceeded, is the society. There isnt any society; or, if there is, I dont know where it keeps itself. Do you? I suppose there is some society somewhere, but I havent seen anything of it. Im very fond of society, and I have always had a great deal of it. I dont mean only in Schenectady, but in New 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 were by gentlemen, added Daisy Miller. I have more friends in New York than in Schenectady more gentlemen friends; and more young lady friends too, she resumed in a moment. She