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 doesnt 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 doesnt want to know me! she said, suddenly. Why dont you say so? You neednt be afraid. Im not afraid! And she gave a little laugh.
Winterbourne fancied there was a tremor in her voice; he was touched, shocked, mortified by it. My dear young lady, he protested, she knows no one . Its her wretched health.
The young girl walked on a few steps, laughing still. You neednt be afraid, she repeated. Why should she want to know me? Then she paused again; she was close to the parapet of the garden, and in front of her was the starlit lake. There was a vague sheen upon its surface, and in the distance were dimly-seen mountain forms. Daisy Miller looked out upon the mysterious prospect, and then she gave another little laugh. Gracious! she is exclusive! she said. Winterbourne wondered whether she was seriously wounded, and for a moment almost wished that her sense of injury might be such as to make it becoming in him to attempt to reassure and comfort her. He had a pleasant sense that she would be very approachable for consolatory purposes. He felt then, for the instant, quite ready to sacrifice his aunt, conversationally; to admit that she was a proud, rude woman, and to declare that they neednt mind her. But before he had time to commit himself to this perilous mixture of gallantry and impiety, the young lady, resuming her walk, gave an exclamation in quite another tone. Well; heres mother! I guess she hasnt got Randolph to go to bed. The figure of a lady appeared, at a distance, very indistinct in the darkness, and advancing with a slow and wavering movement. Suddenly it seemed to 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 doesnt see you, said Winterbourne. Or perhaps, he added thinking, with Miss Miller, the joke permissible perhaps she feels guilty about your shawl.
Oh, its a fearful old thing! the young girl replied, serenely. I told her she could wear it. She wont come here, because she sees you.
Ah, then, said Winterbourne, I had better leave you.
Oh no; come on! urged Miss Daisy Miller.
Im afraid your mother doesnt approve of my walking with you.
Miss Miller gave him a serious glance. It isnt for me; its for you that is, its for her. Well; I dont know who its for! But mother doesnt like any of my gentlemen friends. Shes right down timid. She always makes a fuss if I introduce a gentleman. But I do introduce them almost always. If I didnt introduce my gentlemen friends to mother, the young girl added, in her little soft, flat monotone, I shouldnt think I was natural.
To introduce me, said Winterbourne, you must know my name. And he proceeded to pronounce it.
Oh, dear; I cant 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 upon 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, much-frizzled 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 dont know, said her mother, turning towards the lake again.
I shouldnt think youd 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 couldnt induce him, said Mrs. Miller, very gently. He wants to talk to the waiter. He likes to talk to that waiter.