Daisy Miller | Page 5

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 gentleman friends; and more young lady
friends too," she resumed in a moment. She paused again for an instant;
she was looking at Winterbourne with all her prettiness in her lively
eyes and in her light, slightly monotonous smile. "I have always had,"
she said, "a great deal of gentlemen's society."
Poor Winterbourne was amused, perplexed, and decidedly charmed. He
had never yet heard a young girl express herself in just this fashion;
never, at least, save in cases where to say such things seemed a kind of
demonstrative evidence of a certain laxity of deportment. And yet was
he to accuse Miss Daisy Miller of actual or potential inconduite, as they
said at Geneva? He felt that he had lived at Geneva so long that he had
lost a good deal; he had become dishabituated to the American tone.
Never, indeed, since he had grown old enough to appreciate things, had
he encountered a young American girl of so pronounced a type as this.

Certainly she was very charming, but how deucedly sociable! Was she
simply a pretty girl from New York State? Were they all like that, the
pretty girls who had a good deal of gentlemen's society? Or was she
also a designing, an audacious, an unscrupulous young person?
Winterbourne had lost his instinct in this matter, and his reason could
not help him. Miss Daisy Miller looked extremely innocent. Some
people had told him that, after all, American girls were exceedingly
innocent; and others had told him that, after all, they were not. He was
inclined to think Miss Daisy Miller was a flirt--a pretty American flirt.
He had never, as yet, had any relations with young ladies of this
category. He had known, here in Europe, two or three women--persons
older than Miss Daisy Miller, and provided, for respectability's sake,
with husbands--who were great coquettes--dangerous, terrible women,
with whom one's relations were liable to take a serious turn. But this
young girl was not a coquette in that sense; she was very
unsophisticated; she was only a pretty American flirt. Winterbourne
was almost grateful for having found the formula that applied to Miss
Daisy Miller. He leaned back in his seat; he remarked to himself that
she had the most charming nose he had ever seen; he wondered what
were the regular conditions and limitations of one's intercourse with a
pretty American flirt. It presently became apparent that he was on the
way to learn.
"Have you been to that old castle?" asked the young girl, pointing with
her parasol to the far-gleaming walls of the Chateau de Chillon.
"Yes, formerly, more than once," said Winterbourne. "You too, I
suppose, have seen it?"
"No; we haven't been there. I want to go there dreadfully. Of course I
mean to go there. I wouldn't go away from here without having seen
that old castle."
"It's a very pretty excursion," said Winterbourne, "and very easy to
make. You can drive, you know, or you can go by the little steamer."
"You can go in the cars," said Miss Miller.

"Yes; you can go in the cars," Winterbourne assented.
"Our courier says they take you right up to the castle," the young girl
continued. "We were going last week, but my mother gave out. She
suffers dreadfully from dyspepsia. She said she couldn't go. Randolph
wouldn't go either; he says he doesn't think much of old castles. But I
guess we'll go this week, if we can get Randolph."
"Your brother is not interested in ancient monuments?" Winterbourne
inquired, smiling.
"He says he don't care much about old castles. He's only nine. He wants
to stay at the hotel. Mother's afraid to leave him alone, and the courier
won't stay with him; so we haven't been to many places. But it will be
too bad if we don't go up there." And Miss Miller pointed again at the
Chateau de Chillon.
"I should think it might be arranged," said Winterbourne. "Couldn't you
get some one to stay for the afternoon with Randolph?"
Miss Miller looked at him a moment, and then, very placidly, "I wish
YOU would stay with him!" she said.
Winterbourne hesitated a moment. "I should much rather go to Chillon
with you."
"With me?" asked the young girl with the same placidity.
She didn't rise, blushing, as a young girl at Geneva would have done;
and yet Winterbourne, conscious that he had been very bold, thought it
possible she was offended. "With your mother," he answered very
respectfully.
But it seemed that both his audacity and his respect were lost upon
Miss Daisy Miller. "I guess my mother won't go, after all,"